Seemingly oblivious to the fact that others might be around, you veer to the left in front of me, bypassing the turn lane that I occupy to cut across the oncoming traffic. I brake hard. The drivers of the cars coming in the other direction do the same. You narrowly escape, although I'm not entirely sure you realize it.
Following you into the parking lot of the CVS, I keep my distance. That's what saves me when, having turned into a lane to find a parking space, you inexplicably brake and throw your car into reverse. You expect me to stop and let you do whatever your next maneuver is. I pass you, throwing a glance and plenty of negative energy your way.
I see you reverse, then pull your car around, and then pull into a spot which had apparently opened up right in front of the store. I drive up a couple of other lanes of the parking lot, making sure I don't park my car anywhere near psycho driver lady.
As I walk toward the store, I see you mosey in through the front door, cutting off the old woman whose equally old husband was holding the door open for her. I'm fairly confident you couldn't be bothered to say, "Thank you."
Entering the store, I see you don your CVS smock. Here's hoping customer service isn't part of your job description. It's certainly not part of your life description.