I'm going to take a page from the Book of Lloyd, and express my anger through the simulated execution of a specific demographic of people. The people that are the source of my ire this morning are Drivers That Don't Allow People To Make Right Turns Behind Them While Stopped In The Right Lane At A Red Light.
It's a very long title for a group of people that lack any sort of vehicular courtesy and waste much more of a driver's time waiting than they would by reading said title.
My drive to the train station this morning en route to work did not begin pleasantly. Due to a power failure during the night, which reset my alarm clocks, I was a bit late and knew I would not be able to catch my usual train. So, I took my time getting ready and left home with more than ample time to catch the following one.
Then I got caught at about two-thirds of the traffic lights along the way. Then traffic was stalled for about ten minutes because of an accident blocking all but half of a lane of traffic. Then I got stuck behind a large truck on a narrow street travelling at half the speed limit.
There is not much that could be done about any of these, so I stayed calm, kept my cool. No problem. I'll still make it on time.
What happened next was unexpected. I'm on a narrow, light-traffic street, approaching a large four-lane street, onto which I need to make a right turn for the one-minute stretch to the train station. The light turns red. Obviously, it's a very long light, and any further delay will have serious consequences.
The car in front turns right. The big truck turns right, taking advantage of light traffic. "Ah, good," I think, prematurely. "Even if this van doesn't turn right, I can sneak behind him and be on my way."
He doesn't turn right. That was not the problem, however. The problem is that he stopped a metre or so behind the stop line, hugging the right side of the lane. Any decent human being would hug the left side of the lane and inch forward to courteously allow drivers behind to continue to make right turns, thereby continuing the flow of traffic, making people feel better about the state of the world, and spreading peace to fellow man. This vehicle, however, this Mr. I-Like-To-Be-A-Pain White Minivan was deliberately blocking me in.
I sat stunned, wondering what sort of motivation he would have for such a thing. Does it lengthen your travel time? No. Does it put your vehicle in danger? No. Does it prevent you from oggling the tank-top-clad brunette in the sports car in the left-turn lane? No.
My blinker is on; he can see it clearly in his rear-view mirror. I inch closer. He does nothing. I wave my arms about. He does nothing. I do everything short of honking my horn like a maniac or lifting his car in Incredible Hulk fashion to get him to move the two or three feet required to let me pass so that I may catch my train on time.
Mr. I-Like-To-Cause-Ire White Minivan continues to do nothing. Cars begin to pile up behind me, many with blinkers on as well, wondering why the handsome fellow in the Spumosine is not turning. "Well", I respond to them in exaggerated gestures in my rear-view mirror, "it's because Mr. I-Drive-A-Pedophile-Van White Minivan here is deliberately being irksome." I am particularly proud of my creative gesture for "I-Drive-A-Pedophile-Van". It's not PG.
So, we continue to sit, and wait, and stew in our growing ire. I ponder the consequences of his actions. We all sit here, getting angrier. The anger will churn in us for a great deal of time, until we vent it to those around us. Then, of course, they will be angry, too, and cause further anger in turn. All of society will become angry. Families will crumble. Governments will fall. Donald Brashear will make millions of dollars. "Are you happy now, Mr. I-Am-Intent-On-Violent-Revolution White Minivan? You've caused the collapse of humanity."
The light finally turns green, Mr. I-Sit-In-My-Own-Fecal-Matter-While-Making-People-Wait-Behind-Me White Minivan drives on - seemingly unaware of the army of Uruk-hai I have conjured in my imagination chasing behind him with blood on their minds - and I haste down the block to the station.
The train arrives. The train leaves. I am still in the parking lot. It is another half-hour until the next one.
The most preventable cause to this tragedy is, of course, Mr. I-Have-No-Human-Decency White Minivan. He and his lack of traffic etiquette. I have written before about my quest to avoid all that is hate. This, friends, is not hate, no, not at all. This is righteous anger. This is justice. This is ridding the world of a known menace; one who will spread his ill will to the four corners of the Earth and destroy our Utopian dreams. No, ladies and gentleman, I do not do this out of hate. I do this out of love for the common man who only wishes to catch his train on time. I do this for the loving parents who tend to screaming children in back seats and need not suffer more delays and more minutes of cleaning ice cream off of upholstery seats. I do this, in short, for the children.
Lloyd's Friday Firing Squad has yet to fire a single round at its targets, and the Mr. I-Am-The-Cause-Of-All-Road-Rage White Minivan will escape this fate as well. Not out of sympathy, no. Not in the least. The Firing Squad would be too quick and merciful. No, the fate of Mr. I-Listen-To-Barbara-Streisand White Minivan will involve the words "tire iron", the phrase "Bob, The Anal Fissure", and a large burly man named "Knuckles".