The rest of the staff calls me Mr. Modulator because of the way that I tend to slightly speed up and slow down when I drive. There's a reason for my doing that. And, no, I'm not 'tarded (another name I suspect that they have for me). It's just that I like acceleration. Not speed, necessarily, just the time-rate of change of velocity (the higher the value, the better).

So, yeah, I sometimes nudge the accelerator a little hard, with the result that I might creep up on the car in front of me. But chances are that the lady driving that car does not want me crowding her like a freak-dancer. So I open the interval by letting up on the gas pedal, feel the urge to press ahead, nudge the get the point.

If I'm driving something with high displacement and torque, like, say, a Ram SRT10, then that makes it even worse. That quaint little rubber-band action achieves the elasticity of a bungee jump: I might rumble forward and revel in the firm hand of G-forces pressing me against my seat, brake sharply away from the car in front of me, and then spur the motor again. If I'm in the zone, I can actually become one with the powertrain, manipulating inertia and delta-V to their fullest advantage. But rather than snapping to and fro in my three-car-length drag strip, I'll begin to dodge and weave through traffic like a slow-mo chase scene inspired by "Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon"...carefully, of course, because even the sharpest blade must be constantly aware of his surroundings and avoid mishaps; otherwise, he may find himself saying something like: "Yes, officer, my driver's license says 'Mark' but you may call me 'Ninja Master.'" Next stop: a tiny room lit by striped sunlight.

I suppose I could change my driving habits, but why bother? The phenomenon is barely noticeable, except by those riding with me, but doubtfully by the ones driving around me. As for that officer, I'll bring my sunscreen.