Road Rage Victim, Volume II
So yesterday, for the second time in my life, I was an [unwilling] participant in a road rage incident. The first time was about seven or so years ago and involved my friend Marc, who was driving, getting punched in the face and his door getting kicked in--you remember that, right Paul?
The area: I was exiting the highway and the bottom of the off-ramp had a stop sign rather than a yield. The ramp feeds into a three lane road: two for forward traffic and one for turning right into a supermarket parking lot. Further down, the third lane forces one to take a right onto another street--it is a right turn only lane with an island that prevents one from going straight. There are two lights on the road: one at the intersection with the shopping center, and the other at the main intersection with the forced right. The road that one is forced on is another two lane road (rt. 108) that procedes down toward a touristy summer area--it has fairly heavy traffic.
What happened: I stop at the sign at the end of the ramp and look left: there is a line of traffic coming. I wait. I cock-envy truck pulls up behind me--you know, one of those Dodge super-trucks with the two extra wheels and stuff. The truck becomes impatient and lays heavy, and repeatedly, on the horn. Looking behind me I see him waving his arms telling me to turn and flashing three fingers as if to say "turn right, asshole, there are three lanes!" Problem being that some of the cars in traffic are using that third lane and blinker usage is inconsistant at best. Here's where I made my mistake (keep in mind, less than a minute has elapsed at this point): a canary, a my Nana would say, was allowed to fly.
As I pulled off of the ramp, the truck went right behind me, not stopping at the sign and I could hear the roar of its engine as it tried to pass me. I need to be in the middle lane, so I'm just going to let him pass and get in behind him. He has other plans, however, as he rolls down his window--a hispanic "gentleman", maybe mid twenties to thirties with a twelve-year-old looking child in the passenger seat--and starts screaming "pull the fuck over, fuck you, fuck you asshole!" I, of course, feel that pulling over would be a bad idea. I take the abuse keeping my eyes forward and see that if I stay in the turning lane, he will get stuck in the traffic at the light while I can procede onto the major route and then just turn around in a parking lot to get where I need to be. So I do that. The guy has other plans: gets in behind me and starts honking and flashing his lights. I merge into traffic and he gets in next to me again, continuing to scream. I try to stay next to him so he can't get in front of me and hit the brakes. He goes into the left lanes, i.e. oncoming traffic, so that he can avoid regular street traffic and try to get in front of me. I slow down because I figure he won't be able to get back into the lane easily and I can just take a right an dlose him down a side-street. He pulls in horizontal to block my lane with his truck. Now I drive a Saturn SL1, not an off-road vehicle by any means, but I feel it is in my best interests to risk going off the street to get around him, so I do. By this time, I'm also on my cell-phone (the first time I've ever been grateful for having one!!!) calling the cops. He starts chasing me again, but by this time all kinds of people are honking their horns and yelling out of their windows at the psycho and he screws.
Needless to say, I was pretty terrified. Not from fear of being beaten or anything (I'm pretty sure I could have stood up for myself in a fist fight), but what if he had a gun or a knife?!? This fear has nothing to do with his being apparently of hispanic origins, road rage killings happen in RI relatively frequently. My terror also arose from the fact that he was in a giant truck that could have seriously injured, if not killed, me in my tiny car. His driving, obviously, was not what one would call safe. By the time I got through to the cops, he had already blocked off traffic and began his getaway. I didn't even think of getting his plate--I just wasn't thinking at all except for avoiding death or injury. They sent a car down to talk to me, but since I didn't have the plate number they couldn't do anything.
What have I learned from all this: people are assholes. For all the time he lost sitting behind me at the stop-light, he lost about twenty times that chasing me afterward. Just thinking about how crazy the whole thing was is giving me the shakes even now...
The area: I was exiting the highway and the bottom of the off-ramp had a stop sign rather than a yield. The ramp feeds into a three lane road: two for forward traffic and one for turning right into a supermarket parking lot. Further down, the third lane forces one to take a right onto another street--it is a right turn only lane with an island that prevents one from going straight. There are two lights on the road: one at the intersection with the shopping center, and the other at the main intersection with the forced right. The road that one is forced on is another two lane road (rt. 108) that procedes down toward a touristy summer area--it has fairly heavy traffic.
What happened: I stop at the sign at the end of the ramp and look left: there is a line of traffic coming. I wait. I cock-envy truck pulls up behind me--you know, one of those Dodge super-trucks with the two extra wheels and stuff. The truck becomes impatient and lays heavy, and repeatedly, on the horn. Looking behind me I see him waving his arms telling me to turn and flashing three fingers as if to say "turn right, asshole, there are three lanes!" Problem being that some of the cars in traffic are using that third lane and blinker usage is inconsistant at best. Here's where I made my mistake (keep in mind, less than a minute has elapsed at this point): a canary, a my Nana would say, was allowed to fly.
As I pulled off of the ramp, the truck went right behind me, not stopping at the sign and I could hear the roar of its engine as it tried to pass me. I need to be in the middle lane, so I'm just going to let him pass and get in behind him. He has other plans, however, as he rolls down his window--a hispanic "gentleman", maybe mid twenties to thirties with a twelve-year-old looking child in the passenger seat--and starts screaming "pull the fuck over, fuck you, fuck you asshole!" I, of course, feel that pulling over would be a bad idea. I take the abuse keeping my eyes forward and see that if I stay in the turning lane, he will get stuck in the traffic at the light while I can procede onto the major route and then just turn around in a parking lot to get where I need to be. So I do that. The guy has other plans: gets in behind me and starts honking and flashing his lights. I merge into traffic and he gets in next to me again, continuing to scream. I try to stay next to him so he can't get in front of me and hit the brakes. He goes into the left lanes, i.e. oncoming traffic, so that he can avoid regular street traffic and try to get in front of me. I slow down because I figure he won't be able to get back into the lane easily and I can just take a right an dlose him down a side-street. He pulls in horizontal to block my lane with his truck. Now I drive a Saturn SL1, not an off-road vehicle by any means, but I feel it is in my best interests to risk going off the street to get around him, so I do. By this time, I'm also on my cell-phone (the first time I've ever been grateful for having one!!!) calling the cops. He starts chasing me again, but by this time all kinds of people are honking their horns and yelling out of their windows at the psycho and he screws.
Needless to say, I was pretty terrified. Not from fear of being beaten or anything (I'm pretty sure I could have stood up for myself in a fist fight), but what if he had a gun or a knife?!? This fear has nothing to do with his being apparently of hispanic origins, road rage killings happen in RI relatively frequently. My terror also arose from the fact that he was in a giant truck that could have seriously injured, if not killed, me in my tiny car. His driving, obviously, was not what one would call safe. By the time I got through to the cops, he had already blocked off traffic and began his getaway. I didn't even think of getting his plate--I just wasn't thinking at all except for avoiding death or injury. They sent a car down to talk to me, but since I didn't have the plate number they couldn't do anything.
What have I learned from all this: people are assholes. For all the time he lost sitting behind me at the stop-light, he lost about twenty times that chasing me afterward. Just thinking about how crazy the whole thing was is giving me the shakes even now...