Problems of Road Rage

What is it about getting behind the wheel that turns us into the Grinch who needs to get into the right lane? I can’t imagine a time where I wanted super powers more than when I drive. If I were like magneto from xmen, I would simply use my powers and take the guy who swerved in front of me and throw him into the nearest taco bell. Why is it so hard to put on a turn signal? I wish I had maybe super stretchy arms like that guy from the fantastic fours so I could ring their neck. Am I alone in this fantasy? I’m sure I’m not. When I get behind the wheel, I usually have but one goal, get to where I’m going. However, it isn’t always as easy as that. I’d love nothing more than to jump in my car go to Wal-Mart, and get a few groceries and come home. Instead it happens a little more like this: Get in car, wait 3 minutes for traffic to slow down to get onto Cuba. Then wait an additional 5 seconds at the light, because somebody in an Explorer thought talking to their girlfriend was more important than responding to a green light. Then I drive down the street with my turn signal on, to find out that everybody has speed up so it is impossible for me to switch lanes. I watch these cars move ahead at incredible speeds, not to reach a certain destination, but surely to spite me. What have I done to this red civic? Perhaps the civic and my vehicle were both noble knights in the Iron Age that battled in the past for the love of a beautiful woman. Whatever it is, I see my enemy, and he has engaged in vehicular combat. I put on turn signal, he drives beside me, perfectly parallel, like some kind of ballet. Is today opposite day, where left turn signal means I want to stay in this lane? If it is, why didn’t I get the memo? So after he finally decides he wants to waste some gas and floor it ahead of me, just to pass me, I can finally switch lanes. Hoorah, a small victory at last. Then I sit at the light. Wow the Explorer’s cousin, a foreign SUV now refuses to go. Another 5 seconds. As I enter the turn, I am ambushed by cars that can’t wait till I pass to try and dart in front of me. Forcing me to hit the brakes, if not, I would collide or miss them by inches. It must be wonderful to act like you are “Doing the Dew" from the moment you wake up and become the most dangerous thing on four wheels. After playing auto dodgeball, I finally see a parking space. Again I am floored, it seems that a single pickup truck has mastered the two and half parking space maneuver. Guess nobody outside a motorcycle or runaway cart can possible scratch your 79 ford piece of garbage with the triple colored frame and door paint job you have managed to mismatch up and down your truck. Finally I find a parking space. Joy to the world, I can finally get some groceries. As I come out the store, what do I find? It seems that someone parked like they are facing the opposite direction. Not the 45 degree angle that everyone else has parked. No, that would be too simple. It would be much easier to make the back end of your car form a triangle of doom where I must reposition myself just to get out. Thanks 35 foot long Cadillac. After inching backwards as to not scratch my ride, somebody in SWAT training decides they would box me in. So now I am a shoe, stuck in a shoebox. I have cars to my front, sides and of course directly behind me. They really, and I mean really want my parking space, they want it to the point where me getting out of it first, is irrelevant. The white lights that signify me backing up have been replaced. By what you may ask? They are now headlights, the deer blindingly bright ones, where once you see them, you are transfixed into staying put nothing short of being hit at 45 miles per hour. After about lets say, three minutes of our standoff, the captain of the SWAT team decides he will back up the five feet needed so I can back up. I return on my trip home and again I am bombarded by the same people who wanted to leave, so it seems. They have the same driving style, so what else could it be? Dart in front, screech your tires, it is all in good fun. Who cares in you make your victim have a heart attack. They teach you in drivers education to be the cautious defensive driver. I wonder if the purpose was because anybody with a license can instantly turn your Sunday drive into a scene from Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome. You know for a fact, with 15 feet of clearance, you would not try to squeeze your fifteen foot vehicle from a complete stop to beat an oncoming train, however when the vehicle coming is simply a sedan, it’s time to throw caution to the wind baby! It’s times like these I’m glad I don’t own a gun. Well I’m almost home now, and I’ve avoiding killing anybody who is behind the wheel, deserving or not. Great somebody is in my parking space.