Life & Style Weekend - - MAGAZINE | STUFF - ON A LIGHTER NOTE WORDS: GREG BRAY Find Greg Bray at greg­bray­writer.word or Face­book: Greg Bray – Writer

Folks, as a chronic peo­ple pleaser, I’ve al­ways longed to be one of those care­free char­ac­ters who don’t give two hoots about any­one’s opin­ion or feel any pres­sure to con­form, aka: Trump-esque. The thing is, I seem to stum­ble across these in­di­vid­u­als on a daily ba­sis when I’m driv­ing. You see, when­ever I ven­ture out of my drive­way, I im­me­di­ately get stuck be­hind some laid­back tur­tle trav­el­ling at 20km/h be­low the posted speed limit. Ex­pe­ri­ence has taught me they know how to go much faster be­cause that’s ex­actly what they do on the rare oc­ca­sions an op­por­tu­nity to over­take them pops up. Surely, they must wonder why they are con­stantly be­ing tailed by 30 or more an­gry mo­torists ev­ery­where they go? They ei­ther don’t know, or don’t care, about the im­pact they’re hav­ing on their fel­low driv­ers. Pos­si­bly a lit­tle of both I’d say. To add to ev­ery­one’s joy, oc­ca­sion­ally they’ll stomp on their brake pedal just to see if we’re all still awake. Look, that’s bad enough, but while I’m stuck be­hind Mr Ma­goo and Co, I’m usu­ally be­ing tail­gated by some wild-eyed ma­niac who is cov­er­ing the in­side of their wind­screen with spit­tle be­cause they can’t travel at warp speed. In spite of clearly be­ing able to see the 20 or so bailed up cars in front of mine, they abuse me for the de­lay. Which is why, on more than one oc­ca­sion, I’ve pulled over to let the whole cir­cus trun­dle on to wher­ever it is they are slug­gishly go­ing to. Now, it might ap­pear I’m hav­ing a bit of a moan, but I’m not. I’m ac­tu­ally en­vi­ous of those coast­ing slow­coaches. I earnestly wish I could be more like them, bliss­fully obliv­i­ous to ev­ery­one else around me. Still, un­do­ing years of be­ing a driv­ing door­mat will take time, so like my un­hur­ried he­roes, I’ll built up to it slowly. I’ll start by leisurely push­ing a shop­ping trol­ley through the crowded aisles of my su­per­mar­ket. Once I can main­tain a zen-like state while an­gry mobs toss tinned goods at me, I’ll be ready for the road.

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