A Southern Gentleman Develops Road Rage

Northern Virginia in the springtime is a beautiful place, with lots of activities to do, lots of sights to see, lots of places to visit.  Washington, D.C. is just up the road with all of its historic and cultural attractions.  There are mountains nearby for hiking.  There are beaches not too far away, shopping Meccas everywhere, and sporting events galore.  

The problem is you can’t get to any of them, on account of the roughly 4 gazillion people on the road at any given moment.  It’s like the carrying capacity of the transportation infrastructure of this place (which is perpetually under construction, by the way) is constantly about 25% behind the population.  There are just too many people, and they all want to go to the same place at the same time.  That’s the real problem with living here—Too Many Motherfuckers, or as I like to say in polite company, TMM or TM².  I think this syndrome affects most of the major cities of the world, and it’s only going to get worse. And roughly a third of them cannot drive a car down the highway without pissing me off.

The problem with society is other people.  

Of course, I am one of these roughly 4 gazillion MFers on the road.  I am alone in a large pickup truck about 90% of the time I spend on the road, just sitting there idling, burning precious gasoline, stewing in my own road rage.  I am self aware enough to realize my own hypocrisy, but I try not to dwell on it, because it dilutes the righteous anger I feel at everyone else. 

http://www.despair.com
It's not me, it's you.

I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking that I’m one of those crazy types who thinks that driving on the interstate is tantamount to being in some sort of undeclared NASCAR race, and that I always think I have to be in first place.  I do, admittedly, have a bit of a “type A” personality and as such can become a teensy bit competitive and maybe even a little aggressive, but my personality flaws are not the point here.  So lay off.

I just think that our time on the roads could go a lot nicer if people could learn to operate their automobiles as if they had some place to be, and were aware that other people are on the road because they have someplace to be.  For instance, if we are waiting at a left-turn signal, and we finally get the little green arrow, and there are 20 cars waiting, maybe you could mash your freaking accelerator and move on through the light instead of creeping through like an asshole and making everyone else miss the light.  Or if you are on the freeway, where there are three or more lanes, maybe don’t sit in the left lane going the exact same speed as the cars in the middle and right lanes—a little maneuver I have taken to calling the “Maryland Roadblock.”  Slower traffic keep right.  It’s a very simple concept.  Instead, we wind up driving in these tight little clumps of cars, all usually less than a car-length apart (because if you leave any space, some jackass will shoe-horn his SUV in front of you for no reason), with lots of open road between them.  All because grandma wants to use her cruise control, and if she gets in the lane where she belongs, she’ll have to turn it off and on too much.  So inconsiderate, so self-centered—it sends me to levels of pissed-offedness that I am ashamed to admit to.  I will sit there in my car and wishfully dream of .50cal machineguns mounted on the front of my car so that I could appropriately punish this horrible person in front of me, destroying their car and them in a hail of armor-piercing bullets.

They may not allow this particular model at the airport, however.

The DIY model

Then I will finally manage to pass, pull up next to the car, look over to give the driver a stern look, and I see it is some elderly lady on her cell phone, not an ogre after all, and I wonder what is wrong with me. 

Didn't I want to kill you a moment ago?

Come on, folks.  Don’t go slow in the left lane.
We’re trying to have a society here. 

Maybe the real reason I get so angry driving around here is because of my southern upbringing.  In my hometown, they often have the opposite problem—people are TOO considerate.  You can’t get out of a parking lot after a big event because people are trying to let everyone else go in front of them, even though they have the right of way.  And NOBODY honks a horn.  Honking your horn in Tifton, GA is on equal footing with getting out of your car and taking a dump on the other car's hood.  The horn is reserved for true emergencies and for getting your friend's attention so you can wave at him.  When I visit, I feel like a real asshole for being an impatient driver.  When I return to crazy-town, I’m angry all over again, only more so, because I know that people don’t have to act this way.