Once, late at night in rural Illinois, my gf at the time and I were driving toward Chicago from her sister's house. Two lane highway, zero traffic. This asshole came out of nowhere, sped right up behind us, made a dashing pass, got in front of us and then slowed down. Ten mph under the limit. I was driving at the time and thought, "What the fuck?"
I tried to pass and the asshole started hugging the line and sped up. OK, cool, fine. I'll stay where I'm at. He slows it down again. "What the fuck is this asshole's problem!?"
Ex says, "He's probably just drunk."
"Well, I get that."
Same thing happens: I try to pass, he hugs the line and speeds way up. I resume the speed limit as he's way up there now. Then he slows down.
"Fucking prick asshole!" (Or some variation thereof.)
"Just pass him," she says.
I give it a try and the guy pulls the same maneuver. Crowd, accelerate, slow down.
As he slows down, I pull the car around and gun it. While the ex is yelling, "CHARLIE!!" I look up into the cab of this guy's pickup. Old guy. Not some punk pulling pranks. Old old old motherfucker who should know better. Sixties at least.
I swing the car back into our lane and slow that shit down. We're talking down to thirty five and I hug the fucking line. I hadn't been drinking or smoking, I was just completely fucking pissed off and giving into it.
The old bastard flashes his brights behind us, flooding the interior, and pulls a dramatic swing around us and slows down.
"Angie, call 911."
"What the fuck for?"
"We're giving them this asshole's plates." (After all, I could read them the whole time.)
"I'm not calling 911."
"Just tell 'em he's drunk."
She sighs and starts digging through her purse. By the time she gets the phone out, the guy has sped up, is easily a half mile away, and we're at our exit anyhow.
Never again will I drive like that. Completely stupid of me and one of the few times in my adulthood I can recall being legitimately scared.