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Road rage in ink

I've always accepted a couple of rules for the road in front of me:

1) I apparently chose a bad shade of "invisible" for my car, evidenced by the number of people who regularly pull out in front of me;

2) The idiot in front of, beside or behind me that has just hit the curb, hit the brakes, hit me, is on their cell phone;

3) The moron I just pulled out to pass has miraculously discovered the gas pedal after driving 35 miles an hour for the last 25 miles.

In recent weeks, I've discovered another transportation truth. Those stripes that mark parking spaces are nothing more than suggestions. Apparently, just getting within spitting distance of the space is acceptable. Or maybe there are some drivers out there who believe parking is based on the point system: the more lines they cover, the more points they get.

But that's not the biggest parking problem. The parkers that bug me the most are the ones that don't even bother with a parking space, those who are not willing to walk a couple of extra yards. They'll park in the fire lane to go in the grocery store -- even if they are doing a month's shopping. They'll park in the middle of an entrance road if they think an available parking lot is just too far away.

Included in this gaggle of goobers are those folks who refuse to park anywhere but in the spot closest to the front door. They'll drive around a parking lot for a week just to get it. In the meantime, I've already parked, walked in (stopping several times along the way to catch my breath), finished shopping and back home before they even park. But, hey, they are saving time and reinforcing that they are important enough to rate the primo parking spot. We should all be so important. Or is it lazy?

Come on folks, if I can walk, you can walk. Trust me. (And, no, I'm not talking about those people with disabilities -- temporary or otherwise. This is aimed at people in too much of a hurry to park with the peasants.)

Before you say it, I'll admit it: I have road rage. Terrible road rage. Not the grab-a-gun or golf-club-ala-Jack-Nicholson road rage, but it is road rage nonetheless. I'll beat my steering wheel, blow my horn, and question the mental capacity and physical make-up of other drivers -- all before I get to work in the morning. That's part of the reason I'm exhausted during the day, I think.

I know I can't be alone in these sentiments. I see your faces in the parking lots and on the road -- you hate the idiots too. I think we should develop a hand signal for all members of WHACKED (We Hate All Crazy, Kooky, Egotistical Drivers). That way we'd be able to recognize the sane ones of us.

Then again, I've seen a few international hand symbols while on the road. Maybe unity is not such a good idea after all.



Web posted on Thursday, April 22, 2004


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