I have road rage. There, I said it. It's true. There are few things that tip my boiling point like traffic. Before you judge me, know that I'm a relatively passive road rager. Not that those blatant horn honkers are bad people, I just prefer less obvious expression... like yelling expletives in the car. Thankfully I don't drive a convertible! Traffic really does bring out the worst of my nature and I wish there was some consolation in knowing that I’m not alone. There isn’t.
Last week, Jon and I got trapped on I-40 in a massive traffic jam. We approached the wall of brake lights with mild groans and no visible exit. As we idled along the interstate, we chatted, listened to music and started making alternative plans for the night. There was, after all, nothing we could do about the situation.
A glimmer of hope appeared after thirty-minutes, an exit sign- freedom in only one mile! Other drivers were surprisingly courteous as I crossed three lanes of traffic to prepare for our “escape.” I felt okay. We were forty-minutes in and I had not once scanned the car for sharp objects. Then it started. A car passed on the shoulder of the road. Then two. Three. Suddenly it was the Daytona. Apparently there were some VIPs behind us. These people had no time to wait. They had somewhere to be, unlike the rest of us who were just out for a Friday afternoon drive on the interstate. They were special enough to pass the rest of us who were patiently waiting our turn to exit. Others suddenly started having epiphanies that they were special too. Cars in front of and behind us started pulling out of line to drive down the shoulder. Now, I like to think that I’m a fairly good citizen, so in times like this I feel the need to stand up for the injustice of it all. So, I pulled over on the shoulder. And stopped. I moved along with the traffic, but not ahead of my place in line. I watched cars approach in my rear view mirror. I watched faces tense up as they had to stop behind me… and I don’t think they were singing when I saw their mouths moving. Thankfully, no one was driving a convertible! Horns honked. Hands flew up in disbelief. I was making a point and standing my ground. If they wanted to go around, they would have to take the grass. They did. And, with every car that passed, my blood pressure went up ten points. It was every man (or car) for himself. There were no more common courtesies. It had been over an hour and people were no longer patient, or kind. The selfishness of man was revealed… each person was more important than anyone else. I had lost the battle, both with the traffic and with my nature. With forty yards to go, I became a VIP.
