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January 21, 2003
Road rage and poetic justice
The ramshackle 1981 Ford pickup was weaving in and out of morning rush hour traffic with reckless abandon, much like it did every morning at approximately 7:35 AM CST. He races up behind a blue BMW, engine revving high and loud, only to swerve into the other lane at the last second, narrowly avoiding a rear-end collision, and nearly clipping the front of the car in the other lane. Then it starts again. He searches for an opening, no matter how tiny into which he can cram his rusting, exhaust-belching sled of death. If he has none, he rides the bumper of some unfortunate victim, mere feet behind, traveling at speeds of 60+mph.
I assume this scene happens every morning because I have the displeasure of crossing paths with this idiot at least once a week. This is a testament to my predictable morning routine as much as it is to his. I don't know this person, but I have seen him nearly kill may people. And mark my words, one day I'll write about seeing his truck among the victims of an accident one morning. It is only a matter of time.
Actually, the inevitable almost happened this morning.
He was doing his usual bob and weave act and evidently got a bit too aggressive. He was about 10 cars ahead of me when I saw him suddenly fishtail, evidently over-correcting after an aborted lane-change. Thank god he was in the inner-most lane or the resulting accident could have been massive and included me. As he fishtailed, people applied their brakes slowly and calmly, almost as if they were expecting it to happen, and gave way for inertia run its course. He ended up on the side of the interstate, turned around facing traffic.
As I passed him, I saw a look of true hatred on his face, as if he was cursing someone for doing this to HIM. Absent was that sobering, gut-wrenching-fear-induced look that people who have scantly escaped a catastrophic accident have experienced.
The truly poetic part of this story is the fact that the inner shoulder where he came to a stop is only wide enough for a single car. He had absolutely no room to turn around until there was a very large break in traffic for at least two, perhaps all three lanes. I watched him search for his a way back into the flow until he vanished in my rear-view mirror as I crested an overpass. I imagine the fact that he had to sit and wait patiently for the heavy morning rush hour traffic to abate was just as humiliating as his knowing everyone who passed him both recognized his vehicle and why he was in such a strange position in the first place.
Posted by Christopher at January 21, 2003 01:13 PM
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Comments
Next time you see him driving like this, dial 911 on your cell phone and report his behavior as aggressive driving. The CHP(I'm in California) appreciate this sort of thing, and you may save a life (or even you're own).
I love to see these assoholes arrested.
This is probably one of the few justifiable uses of a cell phone while driving...
Posted by: alan at February 1, 2003 12:41 PM