Repressed Road Rage

Wow! There must be something in the water because lately, the roads are full of crappy drivers and I'm like a bloody beacon for the auto-challenged crowd.

Take Mr. Belligerent, for instance. He's the nasty bugger who refuses to let ANYONE merge in bumper to bumper traffic. Instead, he inches his half ton truck (with a lift kit, of course) forward to the next vehicle (because ain't nobody gonna squeeze in on his watch)and in doing so, he manages to BLOCK THE DRIVEWAY OR SIDE STREET from oncoming traffic, as well . So there I sit, while cars pile up behind me, waiting for Mr. Belligerent to move so I can make my left turn. I despise this guy.

And his gun rack.

And his Playboy mud flaps.

And his spit cup.

Then, there is Ms. Woman Driver Stereotype who is texting with one hand, sipping coffee with the other and steering with her knees. There is a virtual circus happening in the back of her car as toddlers swing from the headrests. She is always the one at the front of the traffic line and she rarely responds to the advanced green arrow because she is too busy retrieving her mascara or wet wipes or animal crackers that litter the passenger side floor boards. I NEVER honk. I just don't do it because it is so freaking aggressive and obnoxious. But people behind me do and Ms. Woman Driver Stereotype invariably pulls her eyes up to the rear view mirror, makes contact with my own and FLIPS ME THE BIRD!! Now, I'm not violent by nature but seeing her middle finger raised and pointed in my general direction makes me want to tee her pony-tailed, Chanel sunglass-wearing head up and drive it off the hood of her car.

To give you a little background, I live in a small but quickly growing cowpatch. Urban planning has become an oxymoron. There is someone in charge of the whole thing but let's just say that his elevator isn't going to the top floor. When the major artery to the ONLY mall in our area is reduced to a single lane during rush hour, I imagine him sitting in an office, his tongue between his teeth and his brow furrowed in concentration as he puts the finishing touches on yet another sign that says, "Smile! Your tax dollars are at work!"

Fuck. Off.

Finally, we have the guilty Catholic driver. If it's one thing that we Catholics know, it's guilt. This one drives at breakneck speed, weaving in and out of traffic apologizing profusely as he comes to a screeching halt with his nose in the crosswalk. He has turned tailgating into an art form. He accelerates and passes you only to pull in front and promptly reduce his speed to something just over a crawl. But, like confession on Saturday mornings, this guy has found a way to redeem himself. He may cross four lanes of traffic to get to the exit ramp with nary a glance in his mirrors but he's the one that gives you the nod and lets you in during the worst of the rush hour craze. Hail Mary full of grace, keep that poor bastard safe.

So, I'm guessing that people in my town, who under normal circumstances would be decent drivers, have lost all ability to be reasonable. Traffic is bad. It's not wretched like that of San Diego or the Dallas Metroplex but it's ugly. It brings out the crazy.

In me.

Just yesterday, I had to physically restrain myself from jamming the gas pedal to the floor and plowing into the vehicle in front of me.

And I'm not even premenstrual.