Stupid drivers. Everyone thinks that everyone else is a bad driver. People who live one place, and get used to how people drive there, and then move someplace new think that absolutely no-one in the new place know how to drive. That's only understandable, because every place has its own driving patterns. If you live in or near a big city, you're expected to drive as close as physically possible to the car in front of you without actually touching their bumper. In more relaxed areas, you're expected to be able to see at least a little of the street between you while the cars are moving. In very relaxed places, you're considered entirely too tense and rude if you don't leave at least two cars' lengths between you and the car in front of you. That's just an example. There are other things - how you're expected to use things like your turn signal, horn, and headlights and how to do things like make turns, let merging traffic in, etc.

I live in what is commonly known as a "tourist town". Tourist businesses make up well over half of the local areas' revenue, so I try to appreciate their business. And - having been a tourist lost in an unfamiliar place before - I try not to be too impatient with people driving slowly and consulting maps. Especially here. Not only is Williamsburg not laid out in a neat grid, but no single part of Williamsburg is laid out in a grid. None. There are no completely straight roads, and there are very few perpendicular intersections. The traffic patterns change from year to year as the traffic engineers try desperately to find a way to keep certain busy intersections from getting too awful without resorting to adding new lanes. (Progress is just Not Done in Williamsburg - at least, not in the areas that the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation has any say over.) It's a terribly confusing place to be, even for a local. I hardly ever leave my apartment to go somewhere in Williamsburg without considering at least half a dozen possible routes. Even when I'm going to places I go frequently. So I try to be patient with tourists who are obviously lost, though I sometimes wish they would pull over to read their maps.

But every now and then, I encounter some stupidity so monumental, I can't stand it.

Last night, Matt and I went over to K.T.'s and Kevin's for dinner. K.T. had just had a fairly distressing visit to the doctor, so she wasn't up to cooking the mediterranean meal she's been planning, but that was understandable. We had spaghetti instead, and watching (finally!) The Man in the Iron Mask. (In case you're wondering, I thought a lot of the acting was a bit wooden - especially John Malkovich's, who spent a lot of time sounding like he was reading his lines instead of speaking them - but because I love swash and buckle action, adore Gerard Depardieu as an actor, and even think Leonardo DiCaprio is nice eye-candy, I enjoyed it immensely.)

Anyway, we didn't leave until fairly late, but we'd been expecting that. ("Fairly late" for me means "after nine.") It was about quarter 'til ten when we pulled off the interstate onto our exit, in the middle of a long string of other cars.

This is sortof unusual. Not many people take our exit, especially not late at night. But I didn't really care - I just wanted to go home and take something for my sniffles and go to bed. Now, this ramp ends in a split, so you can drive in either direction on the road at the end. It's a fairly common design for ramps that aren't expecting a lot of traffic. But there's not a lot of choice, really: every sign for gas, food, lodging, and information points to the left. If you take the right fork, you wind up at Camp Peary, where a moderately tense young man holding an M-16 will ask you to turn around. No, you can't come through the gate to do so. So really, left is your only option, and there are plenty of signs that explain this to you.

The car in front of the car in front of me came to a stop at the stop sign, and its driver looked back and forth. I began to pull to a stop. The car in front of me edged carefully onto the shoulder and pulled up next to the stopped car. What the hell was this? The stopped car hadn't been there anywhere close to long enough to be getting impatient about them yet. Matt and I exchanged a look.

Then we could see that the first car's driver had leaned over and was rolling down his passenger window, and that he was talking to the driver of the second car. Matt and I exchanged another look. There are no choices. After you turn left, you have to drive for another mile or so before there's even a hint of civilization. Why in all the gods' names did these people find it necessary to have conference at the end of an exit-ramp? There was only one reasonable direction to go. There is even plenty of shoulder to pull onto just after you make the turn. There were two or three cars behind me, and we were all waiting impatiently to go somewhere. I honked very quickly. They ignored me, and Matt and I exchanged yet another look.

Finally, after a thankfully brief conference, the two cars decided to go left. My next turn was immediately after this one, so I didn't get to see whether they pulled over again for a longer conference, or what, but boy do I feel secure knowing that these two tourists (yeah, they were definately tourists - their license plates were from Florida and North Carolina, respectively) are visiting my beautiful town.

I think I'll stay out of the tourist end of town for a while.