I needed to make a short trip this Sunday morning. I had a choice to either go via the freeway or navigate across the neighborhood. I usually choose the neighborhood for a lower stress factor, especially on the drive home. The return trip requires me to cross the entire breadth of Interstate 10 in about a quarter mile, with an intervening lane of traffic bound toward Galveston that is more likely than not to come to a complete stop with no warning.
Since it was Sunday morning and traffic was relatively light, I went via the freeway. Along the way, I checked out the traffic on the return side. Everything seemed to be flowing. No backup for the Galveston freeway. I could be home in 5 minutes instead of 10 or more, I thought.
I committed to the freeway for the return trip. I regretted it immediately. A Mercedez-Benz pulled onto the ramp just in front of me, then proceeded to merge onto the multi-lane, downtown, high traffic interstate, going just 30 miles an hour. Either he couldn’t accelerate, or he saw no need to, but either way he put me in the cross-hairs.
Oh, and he had out-of-state plates, too. Frightened and lost. Heavens.
Madly checking oncoming traffic over my left shoulder and trying to get the hell out from behind this danger, I began trying to switch lanes left, left, left. Oncoming traffic boasted a lot of the challenged macho-man type—aggressive, speeding and giving no quarter. The chaotic exchange of cars suddenly changing lanes before a massive freeway interchange added a little spice to the scenario.
To increase my peril, the menace in the Benz started crossing the freeway too, still not accelerating, apparently oblivious to his own impending destruction, staggering into my path again and again as he sought the same left exit I did.
I was repeatedly caught in the pincers between the lost soul and the speed demons, penned in at every moment, frantically trying to watch both in front and behind me at the same time to see from which direction my doom would descend. God help me.
If intimidation is your primary driving strategy, you are an asshole. If timidity won’t let you accelerate when merging onto a freeway, you are a menace to all humanity. And we poor suckers who are caught between you are the ones who are most likely to die.
You can all go to hell. I’m taking the neighborhood route next time.