My vehicle is an incubator of unchecked aggression.
Apologies for the overly-verbose language of that opening sentence. My editor told me to expand the word count of today’s column lest I face exile in the vast tundras of the Prairies (or something like that. I wasn’t paying attention). So I decided to take full advantage of this splendid situation by cracking open my thesaurus and filling this column with multi-syllabic, archaic words. Or not. We’ll see.
Anyway, today I’m back on the subject of cars. My mind always returns to them. I suppose because they’re such a major facet of my life. As I’ve mentioned in earlier columns, cars were an unsustainable dream back in Halifax, but in Saskatchewan, they’re a necessity. An enjoyable necessity that occasionally tips into malevolence.
Now, I’ve always viewed the car as inherently liberating. You can use it to go on road trips, help friends move, or store used video games when your closet gets too full. Sure, the car comes with a truckload (oh, you know that pun was fully intended) of responsibilities, but, to me, they were balanced out by the bounties of freedom.
I still feel that way, for the most part. Insurance, winter tires, and the constant threat of flying rocks to my windshield aren’t exactly fun, but they’re tolerable. It’s worth putting up with the dull minutiae for the possibilities my car affords me.
But lately I’ve noticed a dark shadow hanging over me. An invisble hand of evil. I never thought it would happen to me: Road rage.
I always viewed road rage as comical. I thought it was ridiculous people could get so absurdly upset over driving. I’m talking about the people who get into screaming fights over parking spaces and lane changes. I thought it would never happen to me. I’d just keep my cool.
A few days ago, I watched an episode of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. In it, Mac and Dennis move to the suburbs. Dennis, a deranged sociopath at the best of times, is forced to drive in heavy traffic day after day. The daily grind wears on him and he’s reduced to yelling at his fellow drivers. I though it was hilarious until something dawned on me.
At a certain point, we’re all Dennis Reynolds.
The car is custom built to incubate our rage. It’s a relatively small space. We can scream without people hearing/noticing us. And we take it through high-pressure situations where one mistake can cost you thousands of dollars.
Everyone’s in the same boat. And when someone cuts us off or steals our parking space, the tension mounts. After driving for months or years, a hair-trigger temper can develop, causing us to yell or curse at our fellow travelers for the smallest infraction.
I’ve caught myself indulging in the odd bit of road rage. I’ve complained about people who drive too fast or too slow. I’ve groaned when someone forgets to put their blinker on when they turn. I’ve even raised my voice in anguish when I miss a turn-off. Quite frankly, I’ve lost my cool a few times.
Patience and calm is the antidote. No matter how intense driving may seem, sometimes we have to roll with it. I’m going to practice what I preach and try to let go of my road rage.
But if someone steals my parking space again we’re going to have a problem.
