Why are you doing 55 in the fast lane?! Oh, you're from Pennsylvania. That's why.

In the interest of full disclosure, I'll admit it.  I speed.  A lot. Because I can*.  For that matter, most of the people I know speed whenever they drive.  So maybe that just sets me up to encounter this problem, but still.  Seriously people, if you're going to drive slowly, then get the hell out of the fast lane. You never know what's behind you.  Consider that fair warning.


Since I drive so fast, it is only natural that I encounter people who are moving slower than me.  That's fine, I accept it.  In my state, when people see me speeding up behind them they just move over.  Problem solved, tailgating avoided, and everyone is happy.   But driving in Pennsylvania** is a completely different story.  Pennsylvania drivers don't seem to understand the concept of having a "fast lane" and a "travel lane" (travel being the operative word for slow in this case).   Oooooooh no.  To them, every lane is the travel lane.  And that means that they will sit in the fast lane doing 55 while I try to hold on to my sanity behind them. And by sit, I mean that they will NOT move, even if there is an opening in the other lane (which there isn't because they're doing the same speed as the people in the other lane so you end up with that frustrating phenomena of two cars driving right next to each other for miles....).  

So I tailgate.  As my way of saying " F***ing MOVE already!"  But this only results in stern looks from the offending driver in their rearview mirror.  At this point, I start to feel funny -  like I'm going to burst open or something.  My face starts to flush and the car feels too hot because my soul is suddenly a boil- skinned, fire-breathing, winged monster stuck inside a tiny body and it's trying to get out so it can forcibly remove the car from the path of my driving rampage.  To save the person in front of me from a horrible death and the world from imminent destruction, I'm forced to take action.  While swallowing hard to douse the flames and keep the beast at bay, I resort to my last choice - I pass on the right.  Much to the consternation and disapproval of the person being passed.  Even though they started it.  I want to tell the "Man, I just saved your life." But no.  Instead I just smile blithely and continue on my way.  I wonder if they can see the demon glaring out my eyes.

So, Pennsylvania drivers, now do you see why I need you to move?   If you're suddenly flame roasted and snatched up to eat as a snack on the fly, don't say I didn't warn you.




*If you know me, you know just how true this is.  And you also know how good I am at getting out of tickets.
**I went to college in Pennsylvania.  I almost lost my mind during my four years there.