01
Mar

Nothing puts me in a good mood faster than hearing a great song on the radio. And when I hear a great song, I must blast it. And because LA has fabulous weather eleven months of the year, I must blast it with my windows down.

However, I do abide by the golden rule and never blare my radio while at a stop. All bets are off if I’m cruising down the 405, but at a light I instantly turn down whatever song to which I’m rocking out. I know most people don’t love Ke$ha the way I do. Yet not everyone follows my example. Many a time have I been trapped at a light and forced to suffer through someone’s fondness for Nickelback or Lil Wayne. When that happens, one has three options. One, you play it cool and do nothing. Two, you employ the passive-aggressive route and roll up your windows. Or three, you go the aggressive-aggressive route and turn up your radio to out-blast them. I usually do all of the above. At first I try to ignore them, but soon enough it’s clear that my tacit disapproval of their musical taste isn’t helping my situation. Upon having to suffer through yet another refrain of “How You Remind Me,” I finally crack and roll up my windows. But by then it’s too late; the song is firmly lodged in my head, and in an effort to banish said perversion from my mind, I dial up whatever tune is currently playing no matter how much I may hate it in comparison.

So the other day, I was driving along when the flow of traffic suddenly slowed to about ten miles per hour. Construction. Turning down “Party Rock Anthem” a notch to perform a quick mental ETA recalculation, I noticed a car ahead of me the next lane over. What caught my eye of this otherwise nondescript Honda Civic was the origin of its license plate: Maine. Hmm, don’t see that too often out here. Though because I have undiagnosed ADD, as soon as I noticed it, I forgot it again and turned my attention to inhaling my Shamrock Shake. All was right with the world when at some point it dawned on me that I was humming along to Adele… except that Adele wasn’t playing on my radio. I immediately looked around to see who in my vicinity was crying; obviously some fellow driver had to be going through a very painful breakup because as far as I was concerned that was the only reason why they would crank “Someone Like You.” Making a little more headway in my lane, I realized that Maineiac was the said offender. As I came side by side with this vehicle, I was shocked to find a dude driving it. (Yes, I assumed it was a chick.) That’s when Maineiac casually leaned his cobalt blue Adidas tracksuit clothed arm out the window and flicked a few ashes from his cigarette. Say what? A dude from Maine with a preference for Adele, Adidas tracksuits and Marlboro Golds? Who was this strange creature?

I was so intrigued by this odd mix of qualities that I almost rear-ended the car in front of me. Traffic had now come to a virtual stop, and we were rolling only inches at a time. Unbeknownst to me, the other lane was closed up ahead, so Maineiac decided that the best thing to do was brake, lean halfway out his window and give me the evil eye.

Full disclosure: I can let my road rage get the best of me from time to time. I admit that on more than one occasion I have denied some jerk from cutting in front of me, but really I’m just trying to make it a teachable moment for them. Apparently they forgot the old adage of no cuts, no butts, no coconuts. However, this was not one of those times. I wasn’t even given a chance to go Hulk Anna before Maineiac went ahead and did it for me. I quickly turned from curious to confused. Why was he being such a… well… douchebag? Can someone who blasts Adele and adorns himself in Adidas tracksuits even have the right to be a douchebag? I had no other choice but to let him in… and burst out laughing. He did not take kindly to my response and gave me a lovely one-fingered thank you in return. A minute later, we cleared the roadblock, and Maineiac went speeding off into the horizon.

So what’s the takeaway from this tale? I dunno. Nothing I suppose… Other than dudes from Maine who blast Adele and wear Adidas tracksuits and smoke Marlboros are douchebags. Just in case you ever run into one.

Image: Salvatore Vuono / FreeDigitalPhotos.net

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