Today was Rural Traffic Jam day. Going to work I ended up stuck for several miles on Route 11 (which I prefer to I-81 because less insane truckers on meth) behind some sort of Lovecraftian farm implement on huge wheels going about 20 miles per hour in a 55 miles-per-hour zone. No really, it was this skeletal thing with all these tubes coming off of it and I half expected it to roar out “Iä! Iä! Cthulhu ftaghn!” (I think it was some sort of irrigation thing, or maybe what sprayed out of those tubes was acid to dissolve marauding Shoggoths.) There was, of course, no visible license plate, not even the one saying “farm use” that I saw on a beat-up old truck going down a definitely-not-the-farm road the other week.
Then tonight on my way home I ended up stuck behind a horse-and-buggy. The poor beast was clopping along hell-for-leather too, and the considerate and patient Virginia drivers were whizzing around it inches away, completely disregarding the double no-pass lines on the road. The buggy had one of those big shiny orange reflective triangles on the back. I ended up having to pass the horse too, because of the considerate and patient Virginia driver behind me that was trying to crawl up my ass and I was afraid an accident would occur and I’d end up buried in a mess of dead horse and Amish and considerate and patient Virginia driver. I’m so glad I moved out of Florida with all those crazy homicidal people who drive there and now live in a civilized place where everyone is so considerate and patient with other people on the road.