Fun With Road Rage.

I used to like to drive.

I liked listening to the radio. The feel of the open road. The freedom of being able to go almost anywhere, anytime.

I never used the horn. I would simply mumble the situation to the other car “Oop! Too close! Ughhhhh… ok, there ya go…” or say “honk”. It was a relaxing time, those previous years of driving. Long trips back and forth from college in Florida to my house in PA. A drive across country. I even missed my car a little when I lived in NYC.

Then I moved to LA. Where in two short years, I’ve developed Stage 4, fully blown, ROAD RAGE. RoRa as we affectionately call it here (no we don’t – do not spread that rumor). We pronounce it like “Everyone Drives Like An Idiot”. And it’s true. Everyone but you. And you feel this in the very core of your being. My blood is Type A Badass.

My car is great on the road. It has quick pick up, zippiness, cupholders – THE WORKS. It will lose all battles between it and sportscars or luxury old people wagons (Bentley!), but who’s counting. I drive almost every day in straight up rush hour traffic for my job. I’m becoming very good at driving.

My tolerance is — wait, where did it go?? Patience? Um, no time for that! I have somewhere to be and I need to get there NOW, and the way that I PLANNED, and if you cut me off, signal like a bitch, or stop at no stop sign, I will destroy you.

First, with my horn. [MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP]. Ugh, ok my horn sucks. It’s a toy that sounds like a clown nose. But – oh what? You didn’t move! I told you t— ugh. [MEEP! M-MEEP!] Seriously. GO! (I still yell out “go” to people all the time. My other RoRa catch phrases are “Let’s do this” “Drive like you’re going somewhere” “Cellphone – knew it” and “Are they having a stroke? It looks like they’re gliding to the side like they’re having a stroke”).

Then there are the times (all the times), where the offender makes an aggressive move back. A honk. An angry shrug. Hands in the air! (That’s a favorite of almost everyone). Yesterday, a car started moving into my lane, so I honked to let them know I was there. They honked back. And then so did I. With a specific finger raised outside my window so that they could be sure to see it. Fingers speak louder than horns.

The car lurched back into its lane, then zipped around the back of my car and into the right lane. We both came to the next stop light at the same time. I pretended to be totally cool, listening to KOST 103.5 on the radio, but secretly hoped they couldn’t hear that it was some Rod Stewart love song dedication. My eyes darted sideways, trying to catch a look at the driver. I was hoping they were all “Oh! A girl’s driving! She’s pretty badass to be putting me in my place like that. I totally respect her!” But no. People here want to slam into you to teach you lessons. They speed up when you’re a pedestrian crossing in their way. If they hit you, they can pay for it. And so will you!

I’ve tried tempering this RoRa by bringing tea with me in my car. Playing soothing music (sorry, Rage Against The Machine, not right now…), being a generous driver, letting people go ahead, being patient when some sedan with the touristy “Arizona” plates is slowly driving through Hollywood Blvd like it’s a sunny Sunday afternoon in Binkleberry, Georgia, like we’ve got ALLLLL the time in the world to stop and go and sway between lanes and stop for pedestrians who are really homeless people dressed up like Spongebob Squarepants and aren’t using the friggin pedestrian crosswal—–rrrrrrrrrrRRRRRRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGE!

So, I really think it’s helping me.



Image before I typed on it.

5 thoughts on “Fun With Road Rage.

  1. Y’now what my personal driving pet peeve is? When people don’t stay in their lanes. Just to be clear, they are not switching lanes, they are just driving all over the lines on either side, willy nilly style. GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

  2. I so hear you on this one. Where I live, everyone is more important than me, so when they’ve stopped (that being a miracle in itself) at a stop sign, it’s their turn to go immediately. IMMEDIATELY. And if I honk or throw my hands up, I’m being some sort of jerk. You know, because I follow the EFFING DRIVERS CODE. A-holes. And in Laguna, you can tell who lives there by the parking sticker, which makes it even worse, because you know you live with these people, side by side…..*vomit*

    • Hahaha. I feel like we should start a support group. But I’d just get mad, driving to the meetings. Laguna!! I hear it’s “fancy Malibu”, which is concerning. At least you’ve learned your place. Hahaha. I’m thinking about getting those rims that have blades on them.

      • “Fancy Malibu”? We don’t have half as many drug and alcohol rehab places. But probably as many fake boobs. And duck lips. I will admit that it is prettier. We’re out of here within a month to Santa Barbara…for good. I’ll be waving at you from the other side of the 101!
        (And YES to the rims with blades on. And a rocket launcher on the front, if poss.)

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