The weather was ghastly. I couldn’t see across the street. But I had an appointment with the hairdresser.
After the hairdresser's, I went to the supermarket (because people like to eat). Then I headed home.
To get back to the village from the supermarket, I needed to make a right turn* (from a give-way sign) onto State Highway 1 (a four-laned dual highway).
While I was waiting for a break in the traffic, the jerk behind me started honking his horn. HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK! Like I had fallen asleep, or like I was busy texting, and I had forgotten to turn. HONK! HONK! HONK! HONK!
I'm not going to put up with this, I said to myself. In the US, I would have been afraid to get out of my car. In NZ, not so much.
I put my car in park, opened my door, and marched over to the jerk's car. He rolled down his window. He was a 20-something, with tattoos all over his arm.
"The weather is ghastly. I can’t see a thing,” I said. “You'll just have to wait."
"You've had three chances to turn," the jerk said. He was clearly not expecting to be confronted by a weird American lady.
“It’s my call!" I said.
Then I marched back to my car and texted Twitter. (Okay, not really. Texting while driving is illegal.)
*Note: In NZ, we drive on the left side of the road.