It’s a crisp March morning, and you’re cruising down the Garden State Parkway. The sun’s just peeking over the horizon, your coffee’s still warm, and you’ve got places to be.
Then, out of nowhere, you hit the wall—an immovable, infuriating wall of steel and obliviousness. It’s not construction, it’s not an accident. It’s a left-lane Dick, some joker in a gleaming pickup or a minivan with a “Baby on Board” sticker, dawdling along at 55 in a 65 like they’re on a Sunday stroll through the park.
Or worse, it’s a car with a New York license plate cruising at a calm speed of 55 mph in the left lane on the New Jersey Turnpike as you’re trying to make your flight at Newark International Airport.
New Jersey’s had the “keep right except to pass” law since the early 2000s, folks.
That’s over 20 years of legal clarity, highway signs screaming it every few miles, and yet, here we are. These left-lane Dicks act like the rule’s a suggestion, like the left lane’s their personal VIP lane for sightseeing or daydreaming about their next Wawa run.
Meanwhile, the rest of us are piling up behind them, blood pressure spiking, muttering curses that’d make a sailor blush.
I’ve got a meeting in 20 minutes, someone else is racing to pick up their kid, and another poor soul just wants to make it to the shore before the weekend’s over. But no—Captain Oblivious up there’s got nowhere to be and all day to get there.
You flash your lights. Nothing. You give a polite little honk. Nada. You tailgate just close enough to send a hint—still, they’re unfazed, probably fiddling with their playlist or staring at a cloud shaped like a hoagie.
What’s it take to get through? A billboard-sized neon sign flashing “MOVE OVER” in their rearview? A state trooper with a megaphone? I’d settle for a shred of self-awareness, but apparently that’s too much to ask.
Here’s the thing, Jersey drivers: The left lane’s for passing, not for parking. If you’re not overtaking someone, ease on over to the right. It’s not a demotion, it’s not a personal attack—it’s just how roads work. We’re all trying to coexist on these asphalt arteries, and your camping trip’s clogging the flow. So next time you’re out there, take a peek behind you. See that line of cars stacking up? That’s your cue. Be a hero, not a hazard. Move over, and let’s all get where we’re going without losing our sanity—or our schedules.
by Rob G, Toms River