My road rage is turning me into all that I hate... Chris
I’ VE been thinking a lot recently about road rage. I am a very quiet and easygoing guy – that is until someone wrongs me on the road. No thank you wave when I let you pull out in front of me? Not even a flash of the hazard lights? Well, you better believe that I’m calling you every name under the sun. My favourite insult to fling at someone from the safety of my car is a simple shout of “clown”. Calling someone a clown can be devastating to them. You’re saying they’re inept, feckless and farcical. They don’t have a clue. They shouldn’t even be on the road, they’re that hopeless. I often find myself shouting, “Does naebody apart fae me know how tae drive, naw?!”
I imagine how I look doing this a lot. My face contorted into pure rage, spitting the words at them with such a venom that, for a second, I wonder if the force of my words might shatter the windscreen. I stick to shouts of abuse rather than use my horn. It’s much more cathartic, I’ve found. Although I did give it a blast last week when someone slowed down to match my speed as I tried to merge on to the motorway, blocking me into the slip road. After a few shouts of “Wit’s this clown dain?” to no one in particular, I shot the guy an evil stare. He glanced over at me, as I was ranting and raving, my hands waving about as if to say, “Wit you playing at?”
He turned away and stared straight ahead with a sordid little smile on his face. I fumed. I smashed my palm against the wheel to call the horn into action. He sped up eventually and let me in. I sat behind him for half a mile or so, still cursing him, wishing every misfortune I could think of would befall him. I then indicated right and was about to go level with him so I could hurl some more insults when I realised I was overreacting in quite an extraordinary way. I had completely lost the run of myself. Never had I been so consumed
I was acting like a BMW driver or perhaps even worse... an Audi driver
by such rage. I had to calm down. I had become everything I hated. I was acting like a BMW driver or perhaps even worse... an Audi driver. From behind the wheel of my wee Peugeot,
I had turned into one of those sociopathic businessmen who drive everywhere at no less than 90mph until they get a driving ban. I had to get a grip.
I spoke with my girlfriend about this later that night. She said that I did have to calm down when behind the wheel and that my road rage appeared to be getting worse the more the looming deadline for the book I’m writing approaches. I wonder if when I hand this book in and the weight has lifted from my shoulders, I’ll become a sort of zen master when I’m in the motor. Maybe I’ll get to a point where I won’t care when people do something rude or don’t thank me. Probably not, but maybe.
Last year, after a Hallowe’en party in our flat, my pal left behind a pair of fake glasses. He was wearing a black suit and the glasses and he informed me he was supposed to be Leon Trotsky, the Russian revolutionary. I googled who that was and although he did look like him, to be fair, I spent the rest of the night telling people he was one of the Blues Brothers instead. My girlfriend suggested I wear them in public for a few days just to see if I get treated differently. “It might be good for the column,” I thought.
“’ I spent a week wearing glasses to understand the plight of bespectacled people’ would be a funny title for an article.” I put them on one day as my girlfriend and I drove to the shops. I reversed out of the parking space, right into the path of an oncoming car which I didn’t see. We both slammed on the brakes. I saw the word “specky” form on his lips followed by an expletive. I was deeply hurt. In this moment, I discovered I had a new biggest fear – becoming specky.
Looking back over old work on my computer, I realise I have now been writing this column for a year. Every week I sit down, bereft of ideas, and somehow manage to cobble something together for you to read. For 52 weeks, you have dutifully sat down to read 800 words of this nonsense and for that, I just want to say thank you. Even if you only read it to slag me in the comments section on Facebook, I’m still grateful nonetheless.