“I Drive Fast So Everyone Else Should” Audi Motorist Slams Slow Coaches
DRIVING a car can be both one of the most enjoyable experiences of your life and also one of the most stressful, depending on your own patience and ability to drive, but for one Audi A5 owner, road happiness all depends on whether everyone else is driving up to his level.
Meet Graham Lynch, a 39-year-old professional who works and travels from his commuter belt semi every morning to Dublin City.
“Will you fucking get out of the fucking fast lane you piece of fucking shit,” Mr. Lynch began the interview, with this reporter in the passenger seat, driving behind a Nissan Juke, which still had its right indicator on despite being in the fast lane, “look in your fucking mirror ya blind bastard. Cunts probably on the fucking phone listening to Ian fucking Dempsey or some shite. I’ve to be at work in ten minutes!”
Graham went on to tell me he usually leaves his Salin’s home at eight am, making it into work in the city centre for nine, but only if people knew what the fast lane is for.
“Yeah, it’s a 120 limit, but it’s an unwritten rule that the N7 fast lane is for cars that go 130/150, especially at this time of the morning,” he barked, now hopping into the middle lane and cutting off an articulated lorry and cutting back in front of the Nissan out of spite, “if I wasn’t in a rush I’d give him a taste of his own medicine and hang in front of him,” adding, “It’s slow coach bastards like that that cause accidents, you know”.
Blessing myself, I asked Graham if he was ever in a car accident before and what he thinks should be done to the road rules for people like him.
“Had one close call alright when I was texting work saying I’d be late, but apart from that, no,” he said, now eyeballing the Nissan Juke driver in his rearview, who was too far behind to even see him, “what would I change? Well shunting slow drivers into the slow lane should be an option! I mean, everyone should be going the same speed as me. If you can’t drive it on, then get the fuck off!”.
Arriving at his destination on time, I couldn’t help but notice a sort of smugness to Graham while looking at his watch.
“Forty three minutes ain’t bad, I tell ya,” he concluded, as if completing a race, “shame it will take two fucking hours to get home”.