30 Minutes in Winter Park, FL

I don't know why, exactly, but I was in the best mood when I took my lunch break at 12:30. Maybe its because its Friday. Maybe because I really only have to work four more hours until I can leave for a three day weekend. Maybe its Rhienna's party or that I'm getting married. I don't know. But 30 minutes driving less than a mile and dealing with the pretentious Winter Park morons has definately dampened my spirits.
It began when I turned down Orange Ave to go to Subway. Its the second building on the left and no surprise there, I couldn't just make a left without causing a major traffic jam. No problem, I just went down to the bank and made a U-turn. No sweat. Well, I get back onto Orange and I go to turn into the subway parking lot only to find a utility truck has somehow managed to block the ENTIRE entrance. O-kay. So I went next door to the always questionable Popeye's Chicken and walked over.
The line wasn't too bad so I figured I would make it back in plenty of time to get back to my census bureau research. GUESS AGAIN. A pregnant lady with french manicured toenails was in line two ahead of me. Her order went something like this:
"Gimme (what happened to "May I please have...") a 6 inch turkey on Asiago bread. Double Cheese. Swiss. What do you mean you don't have swiss? Mozzerrella's not the same. Hmmm. Hmmm. Okay. American. NO. Mozzerrella. That's about the same, right? Okay. Double Mozzerella. Lettuce. Tomatoes. Not that many. Okay. That's good. Pickles, Jalapenos-- ON THE SIDE. Olives, banana peppers. Can you toast that. WAIT- just put the jalapenos on and I'll pick them off. Now I want a foot long turkey on white. American cheese. Everything on it. No oil. Well, put the oil on the side (what?!) No olives. Okay, can you please cut this diagonally. Thanks. Oh, I need them wrapped seperately as well. Um, my oil (its in a little cup) has spilled. Can you give me another one and put it in a bag seperate from the other three sandwiches?"
By now I was hoping that I would be here long enough to see her choke on her mozzerrella when she comes up with: "I have to pay for all of these seperately." Arguing ensues as to whether she is buying three sandwhiches (three 6 inches) or two sandwhiches (a six inch and a foot long.)Clock ticking. Clock ticking. I can see harry men have a conversation on my car. One is leaning on my car. I want to go. Please don't get your tobacco spit on my almost clean Cavalier....Waiting, waiting. Finally she's gone.
I am now irrationally irritated and try to be extra nice to the poor people who just had to wait on her and hope that the nine turkey sandwhiches she's eating for lunch give her explosive diarreah. I begin my .5 mile journey back to the office when I get behind a white Expedition.
We're on a cobblestone road and its a little bumpy. But not THAT bumpy. I would have no problem riding a bike down this street bumpy but probably not "lets go rollerblading" bumpy. Anyway. I shit you not, this car was going approximately 2 miles an hour. I look at this person and I think: You know what is running through their head? All the wrong questions.
For example. This person shouldn't ask themselves "Ooooh, can my Expedition handle this bumpy road?" They should ask themselves "Should I really drive a vehicle?"
Because seriously. These huge ass cars can handle a bumpy road. A railroad track. A pregnant lady from Subway. You can run over just about anything in those cars and it will be F-I-N-E. If I can manage it in my "bottoms out going down even the flattest driveway" cavalier, you can do it in your cargo off-road utility vehicle. Kudos to those of you who drive your car.
P.S. I wonder if anyone else notices that its like 115 degrees in here and my plastic water bottle is melting...