Let's discuss the fast lane. It's the lane to the far left in which the cars go faster than all the other cars. If you're late, in a hurry, got the hershey squirts and need a bathroom, it's the lane you take. You got a hot date, hot pizza that's getting cold, or just an overachiever that has spent their life graduating magna cum laude, entertaining foreign dignitaries and single handedly building an eco friendly house... then yeah, it's the one for you.
Now that we have covered that left lane = fast cars, it is completely inappropriate to be driving along in the middle lane, brushing your teeth and decide that 65 is too slow, so swerving into the fast lane is a better option, but slam on your brakes when you get over there. Because that small one car length that was between the car in front and back, was not for you to fill, it was more of a STOPPING DISTANCE, should one need to slam on their brakes in the fast lane. The horn honking and friendly gesture was not an initiation into the fast lane club, it was more of a big fat "you suck" in traffic speak, so wipe the crap eatin grin off your face, like you accomplished something great, like the cure for hemorrhoids. Or something.
Better yet, let's skip to the 1992 volvo mom today. Who was knitting a sweater and baking cookies in the fast lane. I've seen a constipated tortoise haul ass faster than her. She wasn't even going 65, singing along probably to Michael Bolton, or listening to talk radio. She literally thought she was the pace car for Nascar, with the 76 bajillion cars lined up behind her. As we all made the detour to the right, she would look at each car that passed, and perhaps by the 11th that went around her, a light bulb should have gone off, and she could have crawled a few lanes over. But as I looked behind in the disappearing landscape, she was there, leading the Calvary, at about 60 miles an hour. I guess she wanted to be featured on the Happily Ever Laughter Wall O' Shame.