Road Rage

It's been a while, hasn't it? I have to admit, the main reason I'm here right now is because I'm tired of banging my head against the wall that has been the process of editing the novel. Progress has been... slow on that project. The main problem is that I wrote the story for NaNoWriMo, which meant I was writing the story without really knowing yet what was going on. I figured I'd just blaze through any sticky points and fix it all on the second draft. Well, now it's the second draft and there's a lot to fix, and it's all very daunting, to say the least.

The other, lesser reason that I'm here is because I'm worried that I'm doing too much typing on my smartphone these days and I fear that I am losing the ability to type without relying on autocorrect.

I actually came here today to tell you a story about something that happened to me today. More after the page break.

I'm not quite sure why I'm writing this down. Mostly because it happened, I guess. Because I think that if I don't just write it down and get it out there, it's going to rattle around in my brain for a while. I'll obsess over the details, about what I did do, could have done, what did happen and what might have happened. It all sounds like a very good way to drive me mad.

I was driving to work today, as I do most days. The route is always the same. Most days, I stop for coffee. I did today. Some days, I spill coffee on myself and then it's already set to be the worst day ever. Today, though... if I was going to declare the worst day over, this would be a serious contender.

So I'm driving to work and I come up to a stoplight. There are three lanes: a left turn lane, a straight lane (you know, for if you were not turning) and a right-turn lane (for if you were going to TURN RIGHT). I was in the right-turn lane. The light changed green. I turned right.

Somewhere behind me, I heard a horn blare. It sounded too distant, though, so I figured somebody must have cut somebody else off in the intersection behind me. Not my problem. No sooner do I think this, however, when I see a white pickup truck peel out and zip past me. Well, that's a little weird, but whatever, still not my problem.

It becomes my problem, however, when the truck in question cuts in front of me at the next like and blocks the entire road. It becomes my further and quickly escalating problem when a late thirty-something white male leaps out of his truck and comes charging towards me.

Now I have a very new problem: in particular, the angry man who is now slamming his fists into my window and screaming (paraphrased) for me to "get the fuck out of my fucking car so he can fucking kill me, didn't I fucking SEE him, motherfucker, I fucking nearly put him on the median, what the fuck is wrong with me." And on, and on.

I decide, wisely, I think, that I should not do as so eloquently instructed.

I also decide that I don't know how long my window is going to go without shattering, and that if it does, I'm going to have a whole new set of problems very soon. So I step on the gas, drive onto the shoulder and go around this impromptu roadblock and try to go on my way.

Angry White Truck Man is not satisfied, however. This is a man who desires satisfaction, a man who is sorely vexed that he cannot challenge me to a duel with pistols at dawn.

He runs back to his truck, hops in. In my rearview mirror, I can see that this story is about to include a car chase, because who doesn't love car chases, am I right?

So now, for five or so miles, I'm keeping one eye on the road and the other eye on the white pickup that's riding my bumper so very closely. I passed my turn quite a while ago, because it's probably not a good idea to telegraph where I work. I figure I'll drive until I lose him, he gives up, or... well, those really are the only two options. After about five miles, I'm not sure which happens, but the truck is no longer behind me. After circling around a bit just to make sure I'm not followed (you know, because that's what they do in the movies, which are always a good source of tactical advice) I head to work and proceed with my usual day of writing email and other welcome, mundane tasks.

So, that was my morning. And now you know.

I have to be honest, if there's one thing I've taken away from this experience, it's that I'm seriously beginning to feel like I don't want to be in this city any more. This is the second time I've had someone try to attack me while I was driving. I'm not sure if it's a combination of the fact that I really don't like the heat any more, the absolutely sterling reputation of this state and the fact that, even after living here for almost fifteen years, I don't really feel like this is my home, or what. All I know is that more and more, I wish I was somewhere else in the world.