This is a picture of a carpet/grout/tile restoration truck. The driver of this carpet/grout/tile restoration truck, one morning, during my onerous commute to work, decided he needed my lane. He was in the right lane, catching up to a slow-moving semi. Oh, what to do? Of course. Merge left. Unfortunately, I happened to be about even with all the happy graphics on the port side of this box when they started moving over into my metal-space.
I laid on the horn and moved left myself (fortunately, there was no one there, otherwise I would have had to just slam on the brakes). When I caught the driver's attention, I threw up my hands as if to say, "What the fuck?!" Well, he threw up his hands as if to answer "I don't know!" For the record: He did not cover his mouth in horror as if to imply, "Oh my god, excuse me", or "I'm sorry!" No.
It's apparent that carpet/tile/grout restorers are of such integral value in this city, and excess drivers of such relative little worth, that this man's job is really of no concern to him. If he gets let go from this job for flattening a Subaru full of schoolkids, he'll find another.
It's Vegas, baby.
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