This is a story about road rage. We all have it. Especially me.
Kentucky is in a top ten list for states with the worst drivers. Notice I said “a” top ten list. In several other lists ranking the same thing, it ranked 16th, 19th, etc. I just choose to believe the list that puts it in the top ten.
When you are as excellent a driver as I am (please hold your scoffing…no one who has ever ridden in a car with me is allowed to comment) the incompetence of other drivers can be angering.
Occasionally, when I am sufficiently angered, there is a method I use to describe my anger. It is a physical gesture named after animals of the avian variety. We’ve all used it.
I may have used it yesterday for the last time.
Yes. You heard me.
Before I tell you why, let me just issue a disclaimer. Every story we recount in this blog is true. It actually happened as we describe it. Now, we may be a little bit dramatic in our recount. We are females, after all.
The reason I may be done with road rage is because in the last week, I have encountered people who can only be classified in the category of terrifying. A crazy person who almost shot me and a New Jersey “gentleman” who threatened to break a bone.
Several days ago, I pulled up to a light and stopped, intending to turn right. The car behind me overshot the stop and pulled up next to me, as the driver yelled and gestured angrily. Silly me – of course I should have ignored traffic laws and pulled out in front of the semi who clearly had the right-of-way barreling towards me so that you wouldn’t be so inconvenienced by having to stop behind me. My bad. So I made a certain gesture at him as he cussed and ranted at me. What I didn’t count on was that he was insane. He literally began jumping up and down inside his car, smacking his head on the inside roof to adequately display how he was, indeed, crazy. I made my turn and then got into the left turn lane. He pulled up beside me, blocking traffic on a straightaway lane to continue his verbal barrage. Then he stopped. Reached into his glove compartment. I squealed tires to get away before I could see what exactly he would pull out. That was how I almost got shot. Probably.
Two days later, I still hadn’t learned my lesson. At a busy three way stop, I halted and patiently waited for the people who had been there before me to go ahead. When my turn came to turn left, I went. Silly me again, obeying traffic laws. The gentleman to my right decided to make a rolling stop and cut me off by speeding across. Bad idea, sir. I squealed to a stop, almost hitting him. I honked. He decided that instead of getting out of the way, he would lean out of the window and cuss me out. Another bad idea. People cussing me out tends to make me angry, and again, I used a certain gesture to convey my anger. He followed me to my parking spot and cussed me out some more, threatening to break the certain appendage that had made the offensive gesture.
Apparently I have a knack for pissing off the wrong people. No more gesturing for me.
From now on, I’ll let my horn do the talking.
After witnessing one of these exchanges I must agree they are, in fact, terrifying. I do not believe you are done though Chrissy. Right now, in the safety of the coffee house it’s easy to make promises.
The next time someone cuts you off I think your finger will rise again, maybe it will be muscle memory, but I believe it will happen. The best solution for you is bullet proof glass….and vest.
Maybe we could drug you so, at most, you have a mellow rage. The kind that reminds people of a very high friend. (not bath salt high, pot high) “Hey man…..not cool.” Then you can eat a twinkie and everything will be ok.