Driving

I'll be the first to admit that I can be a defensive driver. By which I mean, try to pass me and I'll skin you with a hunting knife. I cannot allow people to act like idiots on the road. It grates me. I have to punish them.

I've been thinking about this a lot lately since I scared the hell out of my friend Katie by going twenty miles per hour on a highway in an effort to piss off the lady behind me, who had honked when I stopped at a red light instead of blazing through it to take my free right like any other free American. Actually when I say I've been thinking about it a lot lately, I mean that I realized my poor car isn't up to road rage anymore.

It's a 1997 Mercury Sable ("Oh, so you know me!"). Its name is Stella. And while Stella and I once tore up Lundeen Parkway, me red-faced and white-knuckled, gnashing my teeth at some idiot on a phone, Stella darting in and out of traffic, barely clearing the space between two semis like a champ, I'm sorry to say that my reign of terror over our public roads is going to have to end. Or at least be seriously cut back on. Today, I was driving back from the gym, full of endorphins, when a van driving behind me pulled into the lane next to me. Sure, she could have been getting ready to make a right turn. But I had a creeping suspicion that wasn't what was going to happen. She was going to try and pass me.

Let me make one thing clear: I was driving the speed limit. I was in fact driving a few miles over, as a courtesy to faster drivers, to stay with the flow of traffic. And if there's one thing I can't abide, it's people who try to pass me when I'm driving the speed limit. As she pulled into my blind spot, I knew, with the practiced eye of a defensive driver, that she was going to try and pass me.

NOT IF I HAVE ANYTHING TO SAY ABOUT IT, I thought to myself and kind of mumbled out loud, and with the practiced foot of a defensive driver, I began to accelerate. I didn't want to completely leave her in the dust. I just wanted to hold our relative positions so that she would realize that there is so reason to pass me, since I am going the speed limit, and drop back into the lane, behind me. That's all. I generally like people. I'm not a mean driver. Just a defensive one.

But what was this? Stella was NOT speeding up. I could feel the car struggling to accelerate and yet the can was rapidly overtaking us. The van crept up to my passenger side window while I struggled furiously to time my road rage so that I succeeded in my mission without shooting through the upcoming three-way intersection and into yonder farmland. Still, the car couldn't do it. In a final burst of acceleration (unnecessary, I thought. A kind of final slap in the face from Miss I-Drive-A-Golden-Van-with-bedazzled-seats), the van overtook my car, and got in front of me, just before the light.

As I seethed, I couldn't figure out why my car had let me down. I checked the gas gauge and made sure the parking break wasn't on. That's about all I know how to do. My conclusion? My car is too old to rule the roads anymore. This blog announces my retirement from being infuriated while driving. At least until I get another car.

Also, if you happen to drive a golden van with bedazzled seats, you're at the top of my list.