Thanks, gangster.

The other day I wanted to get out of work as soon as possible in order to get to an appointment.
Naturally, I got a call at 4:59 from someone who needed something time-consuming.
So I did what needed to be done and finally headed out... into the rolling cluster of traffic I was hoping to avoid.
I found myself in the left lane behind a van from Wisconsin. I knew that the fellow in the van was not moving over on purpose because he kept studying me via his side mirror. He was clearly yanking my anxious chain.
Then I noticed a speeding Ford approaching up in the same lane, so I quickly changed lanes.
There's one thing I know about old Crown Victoria's and retired Police Interceptors. The local drug dealers love them. They add big wheels, shiny rims and new paint. (No, they aren't low profile.)
This particular car, however, has yet to be "pimped." It's car number was still visible on the back bumper.
The Ford oozed a danger that immediately intimidated the Cheesehead into moving over.
I smiled. And I thought it was odd that I'd found a reason to be grateful to a drug runner.
Then I slid on by the van myself.