I do, and the conversations are rarely pleasant.
Terrible drivers are the catalyst (usually) for my heated imaginary conversations. It is true. For example, below is the imaginary conversation from my commute this very morning. Before I start the dialog, I will set the scene for you.
I was driving to work, listening to a song I have not heard in a while, one I sortofkindof like, Texico Bitches by Broken Social Scene. Anyway, I'm in a shiny happy mood, driving along in the middle lane on I-540.
I want to pass the person in front of me who is traveling, oh, I don't know, maybe 7 freaking miles per hour (the speed limit is 65). There is a car in the left lane who just passed me, and there is not another car behind him for a great distance, so I signal, and move into the left lane. Done...errrr, not done. The woman who was waaaayyyyy back there, sped up and started tailgating me just so she could blow her stupid horn at me. She seriously did this...just to be a bitch warty dragon. So, then I imagined her actually hitting my car, and we would pull over to the side of the highway and verbally have it out, and this is the conversation I imagined:
ME: "What in Pluto do you think you were doing Broom Hilda, nice lady, speeding up on purpose JUST so you could blow your horn at me and instigate a road rage incident?"
SHREW: "How dare you get in front of me. My time is so much more valuable than yours?"
ME: "If I were you, I would consider making an appointment with your colorist, because that shade of b.s. isn't going to fly."
SHREW: "Huh?"
ME: "What is wrong with you you half-witted petticoat lady? There was no need to do what you did!"
SHREW: "I'm calling my husband right now, you...you...wahhh, wahhh, wahhh (that is her crying by the way), how...dare...you...<sniffle>...talk...<sniffle>...to...me...<sniffle>...that...way."
ME: "Oh, wow, should I call my husband too? I don't know the protocol for helpless woman!"
(Poseidon would so be on her side anyway, but she didn't need to know that)
This is where the imaginary conversation ended. I usually get bored with these imaginary conversations before an actual maiming or scratching out of eyes occurs.
I mentioned to Poseidon a few weeks ago that I sometimes have imaginary conversations while driving (not sure what I was expecting him to say or do, but I took a chance because one cannot have someone committed against their will, at least in this state), and he told me he does the same thing! Two peas hanging in the same dang pod. The coolest thing about this? Poseidon's revelation that he has imagined conversations while driving makes me feel less alien. Still neurotic, but less alien.
--Fortuitous Observer
