I drive a really fast, expensive race car. I have tinted windows and bright shiny rims. It has a stereo that costs more than your monthly mortgage payment. I play my music really, really loud, with lots of bass, and I wear my hat backwards too. I wear baggy jeans, and a big puffy bomber-style jacket, and I am wearing 400 dollar Prada shades.
I stop at red lights in Waldorf, and be-bop my way into the parking lot at the mall. And while at the light, I notice that in lanes full of traffic, there is at least a full car length of space to my immediate right and left, as if no one wants to sit next to me at the light. I lean forward and glance around my doorpost, to see who is driving these cars that refuse to sit next to me at the light, and you guessed it, it's little white grandma or some southern maryland soccer mom, looking in the other direction, hoping I don't take notice to the insult. Hoping the light turns green, quickly. QUOTE]
My ex boyfriend used to get the same reaction from a different type of driver when he would pull up next to them in his F250 with a 12" lift, confederate flag license plate, rifle rack in the window while playing Southern Rock real loud on his stereo. He always wore his cowboy hat and "sh1t kicking'' cowboy boots even though it makes him have to stoop to get through the doors of the local gun shop.