Life in the Fast Lane... or the Slow Lane... er, uh... Is This a Lane?

It's about to get hyper-local in here. Are you ready?

No, not really. I needed a melodramatic eye-catching headline to capture your attention.  Yes, YOUR attention.  YOU, the person in the black Suburban driving westbound on CV Blvd.  You just turned left with me from Redwood Road onto CVB.  Things were going so well.  We navigated our vehicles beautifully through the turn.  Sure, I was probably playing my music too loud, but I was really into that song (One - Metallica, skip to around 4:20 and you'll feel it, too.) 

I was in turn lane #1, and you were in #2.  Waiting at the traffic light, I glanced over and noticed that you left your window rolled down.  Maybe you enjoyed the low rumble of Thunder Headers attached to my '02 Harley Road Glide. Or perhaps you are also a fan of Metallica. Or both.  Either way, we exchanged a knowing "What's Up" nod. If you ride a bike, you know the nod. 

As we passed by Safeway I was around two car lengths in front of you, so I safely switched lanes to be in front of your SUV.  I needed to eventually turn right on Santa Maria, so this seemed like a perfect time to get in the right lane.  We shared the same lane in automotive harmony until we approached the nail place near Bank of the West.  What's this?  A new lane? "SWEET" you must have said to yourself.  I could feel the tension mounting as your driver-side mirror wiffed to the right of me. 

Stopped at the stoplight at Wilbeam one would think that there are three eastbound lanes, judging by the number of cars lined up in front of me.  One would be wrong, and this becomes painfully obvious when the light turns green, and the two righthand lanes begin to jockey for position. 

It gets ugly here, folks, horns-a-honking, birds-a-flying, nerves-a-frying. 

You may have your fictitious lane this time, SUV, but next time?  I will passive-agressively straddle both of these supposed lanes.   You'll have to knock me down to pass me on the right. 

There, I said it.