We pull out into the street and a taxi cab cuts us off. My dude slams on the breaks. Phew, close call. But immediately, it's like the HULK has taken over his body. He grips the steering wheel and his eyes start to bulge and twitch. I swear I can see the veins popping out of his forehead.
"Motherf%#@ing asshole!!!" he screams as he proceeds to peel out and storm down 2nd Street like a bat outta hell. He's accelerating rapidly, trying to catch up with the cabbie.
"Stop!! What are you doing!?!" I shriek.
"That cabbie cut me off!" he snaps, with a wild look in his eyes. "Fuck him!"
Um, that's what cabbies in the city DO. Get used to it. We just flew by like five pedestrian couples who had to yank each other back on the sidewalk because they were scared of your insane driving. Honestly, I'd rather be on their date than this one. At least they are (presumably) with more level-headed citizens. I have a damn wild man on my hands now.
Just ease off the gas, buddy. No one needs to see your white-knuckle grip on a steering wheel at this stage in the game. The dress I'm wearing looks much better sans blood and I'd like to get home from this otherwise lovely date in one piece. I'm precious cargo, dammit!
He doesn't have to drive like a sleepy grandma, but a few notches below a pissed-off cage fighter would do a lot for me.