Fellow Drivers:

All I can figure is, guys who drive painter’s vans are wholly unaware of the existence of the right lane. They live almost exclusively in the left lane, as I can rarely, if ever, recall passing one of them on their left hand side. And I do have to pass them.

(Bradypus variegatus)

Brown-throated Three-toed Sloth

It’s as if they are all manned by Bradypus variegatus (and yes, I do mean any of a species of several slow-moving, arboreal, tropical Americanedentates of the family Bradypodidae, having a long, coarse, grayish-brown coat, often of a greenish cast, caused by algae, and long, hooklike claws used in gripping tree branches while hanging or moving along in a habitual upside-down position – look it up for further edification).

Perhaps they’re all British sloths – though I don’t believe they are native to that country – and the only thing keeping them from being completely over on the left side of the road is a fenced median, or a concrete barrier?

I don’t want to be xenophobic here (go look that one up too), but in almost every instance, such drivers appears to not utilize English as a first language. I can only assume, therefore, that the left lane of traffic has a different meaning to them that it does in the States. That being said, there are non-synapse-firing low brows born and raised in this country who don’t have a grasp of it either.

However, for now we will adhere to the titular subject matter at hand. I have actually gone as far as calling one of those “How’s My Driving” numbers stuck on the back of one of those aforementioned vans (I’ve got a couple of similar stories about those numbers, which I will relate later), only to have my 2nd-paragraph observation affirmed.

I got a very polite person, who for the life of them couldn’t digest what I was trying to serve. Upon hanging up, I was left with the firm feeling that the person I had just spoken with was likely driving their own way to work, remaining perpetually in the sinister lane…


c'est moi