2002-09-04 - 10:56 p.m.
I honked at somebody today. Not just a little toot, but a long obnoxious blast designed to ruffle the feathers of the person who cut me off in traffic. Usually I don't honk, although that is sometimes just because I can't locate the horn fast enough. In all the years I've had this car I've never internalized its horn location--little buttons on the sides of the steering wheel instead of the center thing. I usually end up trying to honk the air bag, and then it is too late and I'm muttering and sputtering under my breath like Elmer Fudd, and the offender has gone blithely on down the road. But usually I don't honk because it is the equivalent of yelling, and I don't feel comfortable doing that. But sometimes even I lose patience.
I keep wondering why traffic altercations upset me so much. I am a good driver, and am not intimidated by traffic, but I am so angered by all the people who risk their own and other peoples lives by doing stupid things. I don't have far to drive to work, but almost every day I have some kind of a close call....someone runs a stoplight or goes careening through traffic at a high speed or turns right from the left lane. And then there is just the whole rudeness factor: bad parking, holding up traffic with illegal turns, not allowing pedestrians to cross the street. Basically people are just so much meaner when they get behind the wheel of a car than they are in person. If I had to spend very much time driving, I think I would develop a whole new layer of depth to my pessimism about the general public.
I was imagining today what it would be like if we didn't have our cars to insulate us from each other. Would we walk up to someone and push them aside if we wanted to be where they were? Would we yell in their faces? Would we sprint to beat someone to the checkout line at the grocery store or crowd in front of someone at the bank? No, most people act pretty civilized face to face. There is something about the protective box around us that makes us feel separate, that allows us not to see the other boxes as human beings.
Tonight I went to the drugstore (aside: it was something of a modern day miracle, because I was all sweaty and grungy from exercise, and dressed in baggy shorts and mismatched t-shirt....and I actually didn't see anyone I knew.) and there was one slow checker working and about ten customers queued up. I could tell each person was exasperated at having to wait in that slow-moving line. I started wondering what it would be like if we were all in cars. I bet the guy in front of me buying a case of beer would have been passing on the right and cutting in.... but at the store, he just stood there, making the occasional little "Notice-I'm-still-waiting-here" snort.
I blame other things, too, like the media: selling the image that driving fast and recklessly is cool, subtly promoting the idea that to be an individual you should be a maverick behind the wheel of the car. I've heard so many people, who seemed sensible otherwise, say "I have a lead foot!" and just laugh as though they had revealed something they were secretly proud of. One of my coworkers, a young single mother, has spent hundreds of dollars (that she can't afford) on tickets and is in danger of losing her license, and she still refuses to slow down. Because, I suppose, that having a lead foot is such an important part of her identity that she is willing to make huge sacrifices for it. And that is kind of sad, because there are so many other ways to make your mark on the world.
Maybe (probably) I am hopelessly unhip when it comes to cars. I just want to get safely from place to place. And I want other people to respect my life a little more, but there is no way to change other people, so I guess I will just have to change the way I deal with it. Stay alert. Let it go. And honk once in a while.
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