Road Rage
I almost got into a fight with a 45-year old man last night.
Let’s back up – I was down at Chicago Shakespeare Theater last night watching a fairly craptacular version of Romeo and Juliet. For forty-five dollars or whatever they charge, I don’t think I should be thinking about hopping up on stage and helping the star-crossed lovers take their life a bit early. Romeo made me actually appreciative of Leonardo DiCaprio’s performance, and Juliet was drawing these hysterical wheezing breaths – I was afraid she was going to have an asthma attack. Afraid is a strong word… hoping comes closer.
So then, we’re attempting to leave and the parking lot is a mess, of course. There are about five lines attempting to get into two; no one is moving, and everyone is getting more and more frustrated. One woman pulled out of a spot and just got in front of me without asking or even giving me the little wave. As a testament to my rapidly declining mood, I said, “Yeah, sure. Go ahead Fatty McCowface.” Then, this asshole starts revving his engine and moving forward, making it clear that he, too, plans on getting in front of me, though he’s clearly just cut across from the back of the line. Some people are too good to wait. I beep and shake my head at him; everyone in the car pretends not to look at me. He moves forward again. I roll down my window and the guy behind me gets out of his car. It’s getting really ugly really fast.
And we STILL have not moved. Turns out that the person currently at the booth didn’t bring enough money to pay for his parking. The solution to this, of course, is to just let him sit at the booth for TEN minutes. And fuckface moves forward again. Now, I’m just like “fuck it” and move my car so that his only option to move is to drive directly into my left fender. And I say the thing about some of us being too good to wait, whereupon the guy in the passenger seat finally says, “You know, we’re not trying to get in front of you, we’re trying to get out this other line because we have a pass.” Sure he says it in a bitchy tone, but at least now I understand what’s going on! Why would you not say that right away? A little, “Oh, I’m sorry, we’re actually trying to go out this other exit, would it be okay if we just went around you?” would have turned an unpleasant situation (and me nearly getting the tire iron) into a one-second thing.
Then, I’m nearly home when a cabbie blows a stop sign. When I honk my displeasure, HIS PASSENGER GIVES ME THE FINGER AS THEY DRIVE BY! I lost it. I yelled “Fuck You” and gave them the finger back. With my mother in the passenger seat verily cheering me on by this point.
Sometimes I wish I could bottle common courtesy. Then I could visit people in their cars – coming in through the sunroof like goddamn Father Christmas and shoving it down their rude, miserable throats.
