Rage on Down the Road

Home Slice, a photo by Gypsy Scribe on Flickr.

I have been trying to deal with this road rage issue once and for all. Every time I think I have it licked, I am sent a test from above. And I fail. 

A couple of months ago my test was sent in the form of a driver whose car apparently wasn't equipped with accessible mirrors or blinkers. Or the driver just didn't feel like using them that day. In rush hour traffic. So, of course the car slid right over in front of me where there was no room for another car - without signaling. I know, I know. I should have just let her in, slowed down to adjust for her presence and then focused on happier things. Things like this happen all of the time, right?

But no. I didn't. She not only cut me off, she was also going to go a full 5 miles lower than the speed limit IN the passing lane. (I do hear me sounding like a spoiled brat, believe me.) So...I honked at her. It didn't phase her. I honked again. Nothing. Flashed my lights. She slowed down. Tried to pass her. She sped up. Ugh.

After about 15 miles of this nonsense we finally came to town, and of course I was in the turning lane right behind her. So I decided to follow her. Where to? I dunno. I wasn't going to follow her home. But SHE didn't know that. She started to take turns, and so did I - nothing too alarming, but I was doing some fancy mommy talking to myself ("What are you trying to accomplish? How is this going to end well? Stop this right now!") and finally, FINALLY, I decided to let this slight go. There was no way to win. So, I conceded and drove past her when she made one more left turn. 

And wouldn't you know? She swerved back in to my lane behind me and then was following ME! HA! That was some scary stuff right there. I honestly didn't know what to do. 

I stopped in a gas station parking lot, yanked my car keys, jumped out of the car, and met her face-forward as she came in to the parking lot. I am so glad she didn't have a gun - and whatever look on my face or crazy tough girl posturing I was putting out must have worked. I motioned for her to stop and talk to me (whatever motion that is, I guess) but she just kept on going. Right back out of the parking lot.  Phew.

I was worried, SO worried, that she had called the police or had her family coming after me for backup. But then I realized: She really didn't have a leg to stand on in the end. In the end, she was the hunter and I was the prey. She was following me. I was the pursued, not the pursuer. Right?!

Ugh.

I need a chauffeur.