A Little Out of Sorts

By Krys Stefansky

Nobody is quite themselves these days.

Including me, evidently.

There we were, in our car, on our way home from a walk at the park when two vehicles merged into the lane ahead of us. A big pickup truck and a little two-door sedan.

The guy in the dark sedan stepped on the gas, pulled out, passed the big white pickup and pulled back in ahead of it.

Mr. Truck was not pleased. Not pleased one bit. HE stepped on the gas, pulled out, gunned his engine and roared back in, right in front of the tiny sedan, causing THAT guy to have to slam on his brakes.

People, it was not over.

This ridiculous behavior went back and forth at least once more with the guy in the truck nearly running the sedan off the road in his attempt to be first.

Follow them! I said to my husband, quite imperiously.

Wait. What was wrong with me?

But he did. Up to the next red light. At WHICH the driver of the pickup got OUT OF HIS VEHICLE and stomped behind it to shout at the guy in the sedan.

The light was LONG. The shouting went BOTH WAYS. Someone slammed a door. Then slammed it again. And again. Then a bystander in another car rolled down a window and yelled at the truck driver, GET IN THE TRUCK!

And, people, SO DID I!

GET IN THE TRUCK!, I hollered, leaning halfway out of my window so I could be HEARD.

So undignified. What was in my HEAD? I have no idea! The pickup truck driver could easily have marched over, jerked me out of the passenger seat and made mincemeat out of me right there on a city street.

But this is evidently where we are. We are stressed. Out of patience. Out of manners.

Road rage is catching. Just like something else we‘re all trying to avoid.