Methodist Road Rage

Road rage has been a thing for a while now.  Ever since the paved highway, the automobile, and the stop light existed, people have become angry at the mistakes other drivers make.  I think it’s safe to say it didn’t happen before then.  In the 1800’s no one would go bonkers if the horse and buggy in front of them was going too slow on a dirt road.  But now, the pent up anger people have while driving is downright scary.  They turn into flat-out crazy folks, as my grandmother used to say.  What amazes me is how you can put the most genteel person behind the wheel of a car, and they turn into the Incredible Hulk.  We have a story at our church about a very nice, quiet, Christ serving member who became so perturbed with a slow driver, that she not only passed him, but rolled down her window and gave him the one finger salute.  To her absolute horror, the driver of the passed car was one of our beloved church elders.  WWJD?  I don’t think he’d flip off a slow moving Buick. 

I learned a good lesson about road rage years ago that has served me well to this day.  Ironically, it was right after church on a Sunday morning.  My 6 year old son and I were about to pull out of the parking lot on a well traveled, two lane county road.  I looked both ways.  All clear. Time to head home. 

We had gone no more than a quarter mile when I checked my rear view mirror, and that’s when I saw the car behind me.  He was closer to my rear bumper than a stock car drafting at Talladega.  Honestly, the driver looked like he was in my backseat. This car had to be traveling at a high rate of speed because I never saw him when I pulled out.  

And this was not a happy man. He was screaming at me, flailing his arms, and using his fingers in a way that sadly, are familiar to most drivers.  I didn’t understand the rage.  After all, I was doing the speed limit on a curvy two lane road that had lots of double yellow lines. And maybe it was because I had just left the Lord’s House, but rather than return his anger with more anger, I went the passive aggressive route. I smiled in the mirror, gave him a little wave, and blew him a kiss.  It was like pouring napalm on a campfire.  He became apoplectic. I loved it. 

I made the situation even worse by not only laughing at his rage, but slowing down to just below the speed limit.  Because of oncoming traffic he was unable to pass me. Perfect, I thought. I’ll teach him to be a jerk. 

This little parade went on for a couple of miles until I reached the entrance to my subdivision. Then I tapped my brakes, causing my drafting buddy to screech behind me.  Satisfied, I put on my signal, and quickly made a right hand turn. 

He followed me. 

Ok, I thought.  If he wants a fight, I’ll give him one.  I quickly pulled in my driveway and told my son to go into the back yard.  Then I hurriedly took off my tie and watch. I made it a point to leave my large college ring on my right hand.  I knew if I hit him with it, I could it break my finger, but it would inflict some serious damage.  

Satisfied, I walked to the end of the car, folded my arms and waited. “Bring it on”, I thought.  I’ve never been in that many fistfights, but I have learned that generally the person who lands the first punch wins.  And the minute he approaches me, he’s gonna get to see my ring up close.  No talking.  

However, I didn’t get the chance.  The ragemobile pulled in a driveway about two houses down, backed out, and left the way he came.  Just like that the incident was over. 

This whole sequence of even caught the attention of my neighbor Alan, who, in what could be considered to be a pagan practice, was raking leaves on Sunday morning. He walked over, rake in hand. 

“What was that?,” he said. 

“That guy apparently wanted to fight me about the way I drive, and I was just getting  ready to accommodate him.,” I replied. 

Then I gave him a recap of the complete road rage incident. 

Alan looked at me, shook his head in disbelief and said, “Are you out of your a mind?”  It was not a question.  It was a statement.  He was saying, “You’re out of your mind.”

Alan continued. 

“Joe, people don’t fight anymore. There’s a good chance that guy could’ve got out of that car, pulled a .357, and put about 3 holes in your chest.  Then you’re dead, your wife’s a widow, and your son grows up without a father.  How is this a good solution to anything?   And did you think about the fact that now he knows where you live?

I just stood there and nodded like a bobble head doll. I hate it when someone my age shows more maturity and good judgement than me. 

Of course he’s right. Highways are full of road rage incidents where guns are involved. People are shot.  That really solves the problem, doesn’t it?  Oh sure, you showed that guy who cut you off who was boss - but was it really worth 20 years of your life?  And besides, I’ll bet that you have done the exact same thing that you are so upset about. To paraphrase Jesus, “let he who’s never cut someone off fire the first shot.”

So lighten up. I did.  It ain’t worth it.  If someone gets upset with your driving and is letting you know about it, just shrug and say, I’m sorry.”  

And if that doesn’t work, blow them a kiss.  

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