Monday, December 17, 2007

I am a road-rage survivor

I remember it like it was yesterday, which it was. I was heading out on one of our single-lane hi-ways, enjoying the morning and the rare winter-time opportunity of actually driving the speed-limit in December. The roads were bare, clear and dry, and visibility was unlimited. Beauty.

Up ahead I could see a small black sports-car (AKA: a "chick-magnet" or a "penis-extender"), which appeared to be traveling along a lot slower than the posted suggested speed-limit (of 80 KPH). The center-line was broken and there was no oncoming traffic so passing was not only legal, but safe as well. As an added bonus, the sports-car pulled over into the bike lane, with his signal light flashing, giving me more room to pass. Very nice, I thought as I went by him.

Then I noticed that the car had sped up to keep up with me. In fact, he was so close that I could only see the roof of the car out the rear window of the Jeep, and the glare of his lights was lighting up the window (which wasn't as clean as it could have been, but there you go). Whatever's right, I figured, and carried on. About ten miles later the glare disappeared and I figured that he had turned off but nope, he was still there, as close as ever. Then the glare reappeared for a mile or so, then disappeared, then came back. That's odd, I thought as I turned on my signals to right-turn off the hi-way and on to where I was going. That's when he pulled up even closer, lights glaring, and started to honk his horn. I continued on up the side-road, listening bemusedly as he continued to honk his horn as he traveled away down the hi-way. Funny old world, I shrugged to myself (it's okay to shrug to yourself, as long as you don't shrug back. I checked.)

Later on I was telling some friends about this strange little incident and one of them asked, "So this dude tailgated you down the hi-way for miles, high-beaming you in slow motion?"

"I guess that's one possible interpretation," I said, "sure."

"Man," he said, "you sure must have pissed him off."

This came as a bit of a shock. "Pissed him off? How?"

"I dunno. Maybe he was one of those road-rage guys."

"Road-rage guys?" I considered. "You mean one of those stunted losers who believes that the world revolves around them and their maturity-challenged needs, and who upon discovering that this is not the case and that most others refuse to placate them every time something doesn't go the way they want it to, has a little hissy-fit? You mean one of those little, tiny, man-lets, who believes it is his right to wave his arms and blubber like a little baby in a poop saturated diaper any time his every slightest whim is not satisfied? Except that deep down they all know that they are in the wrong and that everybody looks at them with disgust so that being the true cowards they are they hide behind a meaningless psycho-babble term like 'road-rage'? Is that what you mean?"

"Right," he answered, "exactly."

So. Now I'm wondering if there is a support group I can join or something. For support, like. People who will understand the pain of my experience and all that I have endured. For support, like. Yeah. I'll get right on that the very moment that I have finished this coffee, and a few other things I want to do.

Anyway... Humouroceros


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