Mostly True Memoirs
I hate roundabouts.
I especially hate two-lane roundabouts.
They’re the stuff that nightmares are made of.
The cars inside the circle have the right of way.
The cars entering the circle have to yield.
Everyone knows this except the guy in the enormous work truck in the left lane next to me.
He got tired of waiting, so he simply blustered into the circle.
The cars inside had to screech to a halt.
The second enormous work truck behind the first one stupidly followed his colleague.
The work trucks blocked the view, so the cars behind couldn’t see what was happening.
Everyone honked and yelled.
If the left lane is moving, why is the right lane standing still?
Well, because I don’t want to die, that’s why.
Someone is going to plow into somebody else, and I don’t want to be in the middle of it.
Eventually, the traffic jam eased.
The drivers that got cut off cursed and flipped off the offenders.
I survived another roundabout.
Yay.