How to Get Over Road Rage

By Jim Hagarty

Hi, my name is Jim and I am a recovered road rager.

This is my story.

My problem started 49 years ago when I was 16 and got my driver’s licence. Before then, I had had only minor attacks of RR, though signs that I would one day be afflicted by the disorder were already there, now that I look back on it. For example, I used to yell after cars that would spray me with stones as I rode my bike home from school along the gravel roads that led to my farmhouse. And later on I’d mutter and scowl at truckers that would come close to squashing me like a bug as I putt-putted one of my father’s old tractors along the shoulder of the road.

But these mild traffic tantrums were just a foreshadowing of the ranting and raving that would ensue once I was given that little green piece of paper that allowed me to guide gas-powered tanks of plastic, steel and glass up and down the highways of the world. How was I to know that sharing those thoroughfares with me would be some of the biggest jerks to ever strap on a seatbelt?

I have been tailgated by tandem trucks, cut off by compact cars, held up by happy holidayers and petrified by pea-brained passers. I was once slammed into from behind by a driver too busy kissing his girlfriend to bother jamming on his brakes. Another time I was hit broadside by a woman who put on her blinker but just for fun, I guess, as she didn’t bother to make the turn she was indicating she would. Most recently, I was hit head on by a cab driver who pulled out to pass a parked car and didn’t see me there, so small and invisible was I in my full-sized, family lumberwagon.

So, my torment mounted over the years and I fought back. I used every imaginable inappropriate behaviour possible to display my dismay until I finally saw the light. I won’t go into details about how I carried on. But let’s just say that the normally meek and mild me could, at the honk of a horn or the sound of “Learn to drive, loser!”, instantly transform into a frenzied freeway Frankenstein, though I never took to brandishing a pistol or baseball bat.

The good news in all of this, however, is that I have not had even close to one incident of RR in over 20 years. With any luck, I may never again give in to the urge to vent my bruised feelings while cruising along life’s highways.

Here, in nine simple steps, is how I overcame my affliction. Perhaps this will work for you too.

1. In a shopping mall parking lot, back your vehicle out, somewhat prematurely, perhaps, into the path of an oncoming car, forcing the driver to apply his brakes to avoid hitting you.

2. Look in your rear-view mirror to see the big guy behind you losing his mind and listen with blossoming anger as he honks his horn long and loud at you.

3. Flip up the forefinger of your left fist and hold your thus-saluting arm out the window of your car to acknowledge your appreciation of your fellow motorist’s concern over your driving skill level and the perceived deficiencies in it.

4. Watch in dismay as your new-found foe practically locks the front of his car onto the back of yours and prepares to follow you out of the parking lot in this two-ton tango.

5. Realize with growing panic that this demented maniac – obviously released just that day from a maximum-security prison – now intends to follow you in this fashion until you run of gas at which time he will then administer, on your head, a little road rage of his own.

6. Begin to shake uncontrollably and break into a cold sweat as your parking lot pal soon takes to pulling up beside you as you drive along and shaking his fist at you in a preview of how he intends to exact justice once he somehow gets a hold of you.

7. Realize forlornly you can’t go home as you’d rather not share your address with your suddenly acquired, not-so-silent stalker.

8. Head for the local police station and watch in relief as the tactic finally shakes your tormentor from your tail.

9. Wonder for three days after whether or not your own personal road warrior might suddenly appear again as you’re driving along somewhere and least expect to renew your acquaintanceship with him.

I’m cured.

Now, in the fashion of all who’ve suddenly changed their ways, I’d like to cure the rest of the world too.

I propose the opening of a boot camp for road ragers. Hire the guy who chased me around to chase them around. The only thing on the menu would be great spoonsful of Your Own Medicine.

It tastes awful, but served up by the right physician, it’s been known to work wonders.