Friday, May 14, 2010

Driving Miss Daisy

I like to think that I am an evenly-tempered individual, and you really have to do something heinous for me to hold a grudge. However, all of this rationality is completely tossed aside once I get behind the wheel. Yes, I have the absolute WORST case of road rage I have yet seen surpassed.

However, in an ironic twist of fate, I have been told (multiple times) that I really don't possess the superior driving skills to warrant such road rage. Actually, the words used typically are: "Wow, Court, you're a pretty bad driver" or "Umm...you could have gone like 7 cars ago, what are you waiting for?" or "You have another 4 miles before the exit, why are you getting over NOW?" or my personal favorite: "How have you not gotten a ticket yet? this isn't f*cking NASCAR!"


Yes, yes it is.

Either way, I like to consider myself a polite and poised individual, but God help you if you're over 80, turn out of your retirement development and cut me off while I'm doing 60, only to creep around your turn at 10 mph. And really, that's all south Florida is. Don't even get me started on Tallahassee, where they don't understand what that little stick poking out of their driving wheel is for. It's a turning signal, you half-wits. I digress.

I worked at 50+ community for a little while after I graduated college, so there were some over 60's who were pretty cool, but I'm pretty sure many of them wanted to nail me with their golf balls when I drove in thumping Lil' Wayne at 7 AM, just when they were about to tee off.

    
"If I double-bogey this hole I'm blaming that damn Jetta, and not the interference of my awesome hat."

It's just so happens that whenever Nichole calls to check on me in my travels from Tally to West Palm Beach (such a good friend), she ALWAYS catches me right when I'm screaming obscenities at the driver in front of me. Usually it's some college chick, talking on her cell phone/eating a sandwich/doing her nails/performing surgery all at the same time, with some incredibly witty vanity plate that says something to the effect of "2cute4U", going 55 in the left lane in front of me. She more than likely has a Beamer or an Audi with Greek sorority letters on the back, (not that I stereotype or anything....)
Anyways, every conversation begins "Coco, (that's what she's called me as long as I can remember), we've talked about this. Stop screaming and relax. Don't give them the finger. no, No, NO NO NO don't call her that!"

I had come to terms with my road rage, until the other day when I hit an all-time low. I was cruising down one of the streets in my neighborhood, when I came up behind a Buick LeSabre that clearly was driving itself. The little old woman driving it was either utilizing a periscope to see over the wheel, or this was some government project gone horribly awry. Either way, I was trying to make it to I-95 before rush hour traffic, and Driving Miss Daisy was not helping the situation.

So I give her two polite beeps...
Nothing.
I give another beep...
Not even phased! She actually speeds up (imagine that) so I can't pass her.
Finally I just lay on my horn...and little Miss Dale Earnhardt lays on hers right back!!


So she wants a duel, huh? Two can play this game. I roll down my window and give her the finger (classy), and swerve around her, passing her on the right.


VICTORY! TAKE THAT GRANDMA!!

...only then I look over to the passenger seat. Sitting there is her poor husband, looking at me. frowning. sadly. with an oxygen tank he is breathing from attached to his face.

Morality/common decency/SANITY: 1
Courtney: 0
                                 
Ever since I've reflected on my "duel" with this little old lady I've been trying to curb my road rage. So far, the only thing that's worked is listening to my Glee soundtrack in my car when I'm driving in my neighborhood. Only Finn's "I'll Stand By You" and Mercedes' Dreamgirls renditions seem to mellow me out.
                                  
I am clearly Rachel in this scene, after morally hitting rock-bottom, flipping the bird to a little old man on oxygen support. Thank goodness for Finn's vocals.

So, if anyone else has some "remedies" for road rage....please send them my way before I drag-race another AARP candidate. 

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