Road rage

Another useless post, and also one that requires a little preparation.

Around the time I am making whatever meager point I am trying to make, I will ask you, the reader, to visualize a gesture. I feel as if I should go ahead and get this gesture firmly entrenched in your brain so that I can call it up at a moment’s notice. Actually, there are 2 gestures I will discuss later, but one I am sure you already know.

Imagine any Woody Allen film you’ve ever seen in which he is one of the characters. At some point he will be trying to explain some intricate, emotional problem he is experiencing, and he will take both hands and place them horizontally against his head, the fingertips touching between the temples and forehead, then he will bring them both forward in a movement clearly defining exasperation. Practice that image for a second… Are the pretzels making you thirsty?

Good. Now, also imagine that same gesture, but instead of a smooth, quick, forward motion, think of bringing them forward and splaying the fingers somewhat, and then waving them in a rapid, back-and-forth motion from about five inches away from the head to about three inches away from the head. This is also accompanied by eyelids going from relaxed to “Roger-Rabbit” eye-popping size. We will call this gesture “aghast-flabbergastedness”, for want of a better word.

Hey – never let it be said that I will send you off ill-prepared!

My girlfriend and I were driving home Monday afternoon after a busy day of skipping work (for me, at least, as her company is owned by foreigners who don't understand that they are supposed to hate black people and not take MLK Day as a holiday) and doing pretty much nothing productive (and having a damn fine time doing so, I might add!) We were stopped at a traffic light at Old Fannin Road and Flowood Drive (for those of you familiar with Rankin County and Dogwood Festival) and while waiting, she leaned over for a few seconds of “tongue-rasslin’” while I wasn’t having to divert all my attention to the road. My peripheral vision caught the change to green, and as I was shifting into first, a red mustang behind me honked long and loud, as if to tell me that the car in front of me was now 15 feet farther down the road and I was not yet moving.

He should have just gotten pissed and gunned his little mid-life-crisis-mobile past me and been done with it, because he was not yet aware of the sleeping tiger he had awakened within me.

About 200-300 yards down the road from this light is a strip-mall entrance and then a major intersection with a state highway. Traffic on this highway at that time of day in that area is usually reminiscent of a parking lot for a couple of miles until it opens up to 8 lanes (from 4). So as I am progressing towards this intersection with the idea of turning right (or west to any locals reading this), I notice that he is still behind me. I start to salivate in anticipation of the agony I can inflict upon his tiny-penis-hiding-hot-rod with my own vehicle, but it looked as if he were preparing to continue straight at the intersection instead of heading west.

Suddenly, he pulls into the turn lane! A quick “Yesss! Thank you, God!” escapes from my lips, turning my young lady into a squealing mass of laughter, as I never make any references to the hallowed one, except when deriding the “flamboyantly Christian locals” of the tri-county area.

Seeing this as a gift that must be accepted, I morph immediately into “fucked-up-driving-man”, unleashing my uncanny ability to second guess every move of my trailing prey and place myself soundly between the hapless victims and their destinations. It just so happened that traffic was indeed in parking lot mode, so all I was able to accomplish in such a short span was to pull out on the highway and then pull into the left lane to where a blue car was stopped. The right lane was stopped as well, but it was stopped farther back. So I had the lead - a whopping 2 car-lengths. But size means nothing to me! I was in front! Woohoo!!

Anyway, flaccid-penis-red-mustang-man pulls out onto the highway, guns his engine as if to pass me (although I am already stopped in the left lane) and then slams on his brakes to keep from ramming me. He then proceeds to display “aghast-flabbergastedness” (see above) as his aneurism begins to swell.

At this point I can only be amazed. This display, while rewarding, was certainly not an appropriate reaction for the limited skirmish we had fought. I don’t know if he wanted to be parked behind the blue car, or if he wanted to run into the blue car or what. But he was obviously pissed that I was stopped in traffic in front of him. So pissed, in fact, that he then proceeds to flip me off for a good 15 seconds. Quite a generous display, I might add. He was thrusting his fist and extended finger against his windshield, staring straight into my rear-view mirror.

All of a sudden, this was no longer fun. I realized that there could possibly be a madman behind me. He looked as if he were ready to ram me. I started to worry. The only weapon I had at my disposal was my phone-camera. I made a show of taking several pictures (the were worthless, but he couldn't tell!) and that seemed to have a calming effect on him. Maybe he just ran out of adrenaline? Who knows?

For the next few minutes, we crept through traffic. Once the jam began to ease, he continued to stay behind me. I think he was wary of me now. I had to turn off about then, and he shot past without even a glance, avoiding the all-seeing-RAZR-eye. Even though I bested this oaf, my fun was tempered with the realization that I was pretty damn glad he didn’t have a gun. And I was also pretty glad I didn’t have one, because I found myself fighting an overwhelming urge to yank him out of the car and shoot him on the spot in the middle of the highway for all the assholes to see. Road rage… It’s contagious.

Because even though I was completely guilty of wanting to be a pain in his ass, the traffic at the time did not allow it. I was innocent of any asshole-ishness or wrongdoing, but that was out of my control – I just never had time to use any of my moves. But he just freaked because I was in front of him, which would have been the case even if he hadn’t been an asshole and honked at me for kissing my girlfriend and wasting that valuable 3 seconds of his life that he would never be able to reclaim. It really could have been just an innocent thing. And he could have killed us, or worse, I could have killed him!

Epilogue:

About an hour after this incident, Kenneth Thornton of Crystal Springs, Mississippi, was killed on I-220 on the other side of Jackson from where my fracas ensued. Apparently, the gunman didn’t like the way this guy passed him, and shot him in the back of the head while they were going 70mph on the interstate. Police are still searching for the asshole.

It’s a good thing my guns stay at home, because it is contagious!