I'M IN NO RUSH, RIGHT?

I'm on my way to work.  I'm not late; as a matter of fact, I usually get to work weirdly early.  There are a few of us who have accidentally and unintentionally started competing as to who draws first blood in the parking lot for a front row spot.

In other words, I have no reason to be in a rush.

I decide to go the back way, the scenic way.  There are two slow lights going this way, though: one at the entrance to a busy state highway, and the next light about one hundred yards away where I turn immediately off the state highway.  But, since I'm not late, who really cares how long the light takes, right?

Wrong.

On my way toward the light, a fancy-schmancy, expensive, luxury SUV pulls out right in front of me from a side street of large, nouveau-riche, eighty-bedroom castles.  This SUV, with more horsepower than all the cars on my little mid-town street, decides it is appropriate to go twenty miles per hour in a thirty-five mile per hour zone.

Remember, I'm in no rush.  But, pleeeeeeeeesee.  If you're going to cut me off on the road, at least make an attempt not to make a total dick out of yourself.

We get to the light, and dopey is going so slowly that we actually miss it.  We MISS it.  We.  Miss.  It.  We miss the damn light, and now I know it's a good three-minute wait for our next opportunity.

Unless . . . Aha!  Score!  The traffic opposite us has a turning light, which means that we have clear egress to turn right onto the highway, something that, if the SUV's blinker is telling the truth, we both intend to do.  But, the SUV sits there.  I can't believe this.  First, this a-hole pretends I am driving the invisible car, and now it wants to pretend it cannot read traffic patterns.  

So, I do what any other offended yet intelligent driver would do mere miles from the state police barracks in the middle of stopped traffic: I drive around the jackass and make my right turn directly in front of the SUV.

Screw you, SUV.  Drive like a dink then sit at the light like a tool?  I don't care if I'm early for work or late for work.  I don't care if a cop sees me and follows me across the intersection to write me a ticket.  I.  Don't.  Care.  I am having a bit of a rough patch in my life on many levels, and I'm at the end of my tolerance for ignorant people; this includes self-important, pompous nouveau-riche Mr. Magoo drivers.

In the end, I don't get a ticket, and I still arrive at work at the usual time.  Best of all, I feel good because the SUV followed me (at a slow pace and considerable distance) for another few miles, and I would've lost my frigging mind being behind it another second.