Driving home from Costco today, a car flagrantly ran a stop sign in front of me. The car ahead of me slammed on his brakes, and so did I. Then, instinctively, the palm of my hand lay into the horn for a solid 11, 12 seconds.
It. Felt. So. Good.
For some reason, people in
don’t honk their horns. I don’t know if they’re too polite, too mellow, or just too slow. But I miss it. I miss honking the horn for every little thing: Fresno
HONK! Put the makeup away, girlfriend – the light’s green!
HONK! Get out of my way, Grandma!
HONK! I don’t care if your car broke down! Call a tow truck and move out of my lane!
When I visited
last year, I slept near an open window listening to the charming sounds of the city, horns honking and all. It reminded me of home – I miss the frequent horn honking in New York City . There’s such a sweet satisfaction to it. Boston
I’ve become much less aggressive since moving here, and have learned to honk less. But I’m not gonna lie, it felt great to honk today, and to keep honking for maybe a few seconds longer than actually necessary. It’s there to be used and I used it. And I’m not even sorry.
OK, I’m getting off my shoebox now.