Let me start off by saying I don't have OCD.


Let me start off by saying I don't have diagnosed OCD. But there's no possible way I don't have some kind of form of it. At least, the obsessive part.

And I was obsessed with feeling uncomfortable with what I saw when you merged onto 295 in Yarmouth just before Exit 17, Mr. OCD-Inducing Driver Sir.

Google Maps / Michael
Google Maps / Michael

First off, you had a Veteran plate, so thank you for your service. And that's not me building you up to verbally eviscerate you like I did that miserable, sucknugget old broad from New York who talked smack about Maine over the summer.

I genuinely appreciate the fact that you served any kind of time in your life to help keep us free enough to sit behind a keyboard and write this required daily article, so please know my appreciate isn't BS.

That said, how in the bluest of blue hells could you drive with your car the way you did? I mean, I'm not even pissed that the fact you were too lazy to clean off any part of your rear windshield sent all the spitback onto my front windshield.

I mean, it's a bit of a d-bag move (although is it really, since there's no Maine law about having to clean snow off your car before you drive it), but that's not what got me.

Ainārs Cekuls
Ainārs Cekuls

What got me was I legit started getting a tight chest for you, imagining being you, merging onto the highway and not even able to see anything coming at you from behind other than out your side mirrors, which are obviously filled with blind spots.

I mean, don't get me wrong, you clearly reek of BDE (Google it, I'm not getting fired for you), but holy hell, I don't know if it was anxiety or OCD or a mix of both, but I may or may not have white-knuckled my steering wheel thinking of being in your position.

But also, compliments to you, because you merged across three lanes all the way to the left lane like an absolute savage (or like someone with zero F's left to give.) So, I guess anxiety and OCD aside -- I'm impressed by you?

Which is why I'm ending this by apologizing for getting in front of you and sending my windshield fluid spitback onto your windshield then speeding away. Maybe I'm the d-bag in this situation, not you.

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