Road Rage Sucks

Sara and I were making a trip down to the states. We’d made it across the border, picked up some food, and we were on our way to lodgings for the night. No sooner did we make a complete stop at a 4-way stop sign, did we hear a small “beep” coming from behind us. A little puzzled, we kept on our way, until there came another “beep” when I stopped at the next stop sign. Sara looked behind us to find some old lay waving her index finger at us. For What?! I thought, Following traffic laws in a foreign country?

Luckily, she turned away at the next intersection. We thought our road troubles were over for the day. Then, we come to the next stop sign, and the passenger side door on the truck in front of us opens.

Then Bluto steps out on to the street.

I wish I was making this up. He was well over 6 feet, bearded, bald and with rage in his eyes. He marched over to our car and yelled “Open your window! Open your window right goddamn now!”

This guy thought WE were the ones honking at the stop lights!

My brain started racing through my options. Was I going to have to flee? Would I have to run this guy down? Needless to say, there was no way I was going to roll down my window so this joker could get at me and my wife. Yelled as much out at him as he proceeded to curse us out. I probably didn’t do much to defuse the situation. Sara was apologizing profusely beside me. He smacked the back of his hand against our car, got back into his pickup, and drove off.

First of all, I couldn’t believe this had happened. You only hear about such things in the news precisely because they are rare. I kept wondering if I’d done the right thing. Was this guy going to be on the lookout for our car now? More importantly, did I stand up to him properly? I know it’s a stupid thing to think about when your life could have been in danger, but I think on some level all guys want to deal with disagreements with an equal amount of grace and ferocity. When there are so many variables to consider (not the least of which the safety of my wife), I don’t think it’s a cop-out to keep with in that two-ton steel advantage I call an automobile. As a fellow large person, I couldn’t begin to figure out how this guy somehow thought he could use his size to make me do what he wanted. It was probably the same reason he was riding shotgun in a rusted out pick-up truck in the first place.