Road Ragers Anonymous
Before I came out to L.A., I had heard of road rage. Somehow, when you come from somewhere else, the concept, though digestible, is still abstract. Then all at once and out of nowhere, there it is, right there in front of you. A crazed tyrant behind the wheel of two tons of moving metal is focusing all of his or her energy directly at you. The feeling is not unlike being pulled over by a cop...singled out amongst thousands of drivers for individual treatment, you freeze in your tracks in total disbelief. Well, folks...it happened to me.
Monday morning after taking my girlfriend to the airport, I drove to work. LIke an idiot, I decided that the freeway would be the best route to take. On the onramp, someone sped up behind my car at about 70 mph trying to pass me before entering the freeway. Now I freely admit that in circumstances like these, when confronted by someone with an exaggerated sense of aggression on my back bumper, I do what any free thinking human with an ounce of self respect does...I slow down...if for no other reason than to tell that bastard that he needs to slow down to a reasonable speed before he kills someone. Well, some people don't get the message. In this case, he certainly did not. The guy passed me, flipped me off, and upon seeing that I made a gesture in his direction (yes, I flipped him the bird), swerved back across three lanes of traffic to cut me off. Fine. I deserved that. I get the message. May we move on now? Apparently not.
He slows down to a crawl. He stops his car entirely on the 10 freeway. You're kidding me, right? He gestures towards the side of the road. Apparently this is the sign that I am supposed to get out of the car now. I am not getting out of the car. Traffic is building up behind us. He gets out of the car. "Oh fuck. What have I stepped in this time?" My internal monologue doesn't know what to say now. He walks towards my car. The situation looks pretty grim about now for me. Clearly this man is crazy. You don't stop your car on one of the world's busiest freeways and get out to start a fistfight unless you are crazy, correct? Is my mother going to see helicopter footage of two me fighting on the freeway and say, "that's my son getting his face pummeled on live television." No she is not, I decide.
Considering that getting pinned in with a madman is a great way to die, I'd left thirty feet or so behind my car and his, so I have some room to maneuver. If I had been right up on his bumper, I would not have had this escape. Spying an opening in the lane next to me, I swerve in front of a minivan and zip off into the morning leaving my would-be assailant standing in the middle of the freeway. On my way by he lunged at my car, yelling something unintelligible. I do not speak neanderthal. Just in case he managed to follow, I skip my exit, take a convoluted route of local streets and illogical turns to my place of work and valet the car. I am shaken. An hour later I am still shaken. At the end of the day, I leave work early and go to yoga in an effort to leave my highway anxiety on the road. It's too late, though. The stresses of the day are burned into my muscles. I'll be fine...Just please don't tell my mother.
Monday morning after taking my girlfriend to the airport, I drove to work. LIke an idiot, I decided that the freeway would be the best route to take. On the onramp, someone sped up behind my car at about 70 mph trying to pass me before entering the freeway. Now I freely admit that in circumstances like these, when confronted by someone with an exaggerated sense of aggression on my back bumper, I do what any free thinking human with an ounce of self respect does...I slow down...if for no other reason than to tell that bastard that he needs to slow down to a reasonable speed before he kills someone. Well, some people don't get the message. In this case, he certainly did not. The guy passed me, flipped me off, and upon seeing that I made a gesture in his direction (yes, I flipped him the bird), swerved back across three lanes of traffic to cut me off. Fine. I deserved that. I get the message. May we move on now? Apparently not.
He slows down to a crawl. He stops his car entirely on the 10 freeway. You're kidding me, right? He gestures towards the side of the road. Apparently this is the sign that I am supposed to get out of the car now. I am not getting out of the car. Traffic is building up behind us. He gets out of the car. "Oh fuck. What have I stepped in this time?" My internal monologue doesn't know what to say now. He walks towards my car. The situation looks pretty grim about now for me. Clearly this man is crazy. You don't stop your car on one of the world's busiest freeways and get out to start a fistfight unless you are crazy, correct? Is my mother going to see helicopter footage of two me fighting on the freeway and say, "that's my son getting his face pummeled on live television." No she is not, I decide.
Considering that getting pinned in with a madman is a great way to die, I'd left thirty feet or so behind my car and his, so I have some room to maneuver. If I had been right up on his bumper, I would not have had this escape. Spying an opening in the lane next to me, I swerve in front of a minivan and zip off into the morning leaving my would-be assailant standing in the middle of the freeway. On my way by he lunged at my car, yelling something unintelligible. I do not speak neanderthal. Just in case he managed to follow, I skip my exit, take a convoluted route of local streets and illogical turns to my place of work and valet the car. I am shaken. An hour later I am still shaken. At the end of the day, I leave work early and go to yoga in an effort to leave my highway anxiety on the road. It's too late, though. The stresses of the day are burned into my muscles. I'll be fine...Just please don't tell my mother.
posted by wally @ 2:00 AM
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