Road rage.
September 23, 2006
I think that, before I launch into a tirade, I should give you a little background.
I’m a country boy. The pace of life where I grew up has two sppeds, and they’re both really slow. It’s okay. Everybody knows everybody (which is cool), and everybody knows everybody’s business (which is less cool).
Everybody also loves to drive rally cars (which is very cool), and just generally enjoys driving and all things motoring related. And I loved to drive. I mean, I LOVED to drive.
Anyway, about a year and a half ago, I moved to a city. It turns out, city driving is not like country driving. There are no rules. There are no manners. There is no thought. It is not nice.
Today: Approaching a box junction on a four-lane road. Left lane for turning left, right lane for straight on. And, in the case of the jackass in front of me yattering on his mobile phone, BOTH lanes, at 5 miles per hour.
Now, being a reasonable sort of chap, I tooted my horn in as friendly away as I could. So. He slowed down. He looked back out of his window. He flipped me the bird. He yelled a torrent of abuse at me.
This is quite common in city driving: Ass-hat does something wrong to you, ass-hat blames you and road-rages you.
Oh, by the way, I’m a qualified driving instructor. My opinion of what’s wrong with people’s driving is invariably correct.
Anyway. The lesson here is this: When you road rage somebody, better pray it’s not a country boy. There are those of us who, purely hypothetically, might follow you home and belt seven shades of shit out of you for being such a twat. You road rage people because you think you are safe and there
