All hail the Queen of Road Rage

I swore I wasn't going to write about paying taxes, no matter what today's date is. I thought I'd tackle a topic a little less inflammatory and wrath-provoking. Something that, compared to taxes, is as light and fluffy as a marshmallow peep. Like, oh, handguns and why I won't own one.

I'm not a big fan of guns, especially handguns, but before you NRA members start calling me up and calling me out, let me stress -- my guns wouldn't kill people.

I would.

I am the Queen of Road Rage. I actually have a very long fuse when it comes to my temper, but a very big bang at the end of it, and some things are guaranteed to throw the spark that lights the fuse. Like closing the car door. Turning the ignition key. Backing out of my driveway. Boom! Instant Queen of Mean.

Just ask the guy who zipped into the parking pace for which I'd been waiting patiently. I would have probably shrugged it off (A veteran of the MTSU campus parking lot Turf Wars, I can concede defeat in the face of younger, faster, and better insured) except the usurper looked over at me -- and grinned. No, not grinned. He smirked.

I went berserk. I think that's the only way to describe it, and considering how thick the German is on my bloodline, I was channeling a true Berserker in a fighting frenzy. For those of you who remain calm and cool under all circumstances, due to better breeding, parenting or prescriptions, let me tell you -- when a person says, "I was so mad I saw red," it is the literal truth. A red haze descends, blocking out sunlight, sanity and any thoughts of repercussions and law enforcement officers.

I got out of my van and let the young man know what I thought of his truck, his manners, and his ancestors' questionable relationships. My face turned red, my hair was static electrified and I must have looked like an overweight Martha Stewart after a two-day rave where they had mismatched pacifiers and machine-made doilies. Have you seen "Fried Green Tomatoes?" I was the Kathy Bates character, channeling my inner Tawanda, only she took a side trip through a Stephen King novel on the way and picked up a lean, mean Jack Nicholson attitude on the way.

It was not a pretty sight.

The young man tried to give as good as he was getting, but had to conceded defeat when he realized that not only was I not a sane woman, I was an English major and he was never going to win a verbal battle with me. He less-than-politely declined my invitation to stroll in front of my vehicle once I got behind the wheel, and disappeared into the store, tail tucked, to the laughter of his good ole buddies who watched it all unfold.

I am not proud of this.

I was upset and angry about how upset and angry I had gotten, and to be honest, I was a little scared of, too. Road rage is a serious issue and while I joke about running over people, there have been fatal victims. If the parking space thief really had been as stupid as I told him he was and walked in front of my car, I wouldn't have hit him -- but I would have thought about it.

Most road rage stems from other issues, from battling with insurance agents to salary cuts, from feeling too pressured from too many sides to balancing work and home life and trying to make sure everyone is happy, fed, or paid. Once you realize this, you can stop blaming the moron who cut you off for the fact that your coworker drinks all the coffee but never makes any.

I've actually improved a lot in the last year, partly due to some new meditation techniques (Ohm .... zolooooooft.... ohm....) but mostly due to the fact that I am no longer driving to and through Murfreesboro every day. Traffic in Shelbyville can get frustrating at times, but nothing short of a Paris roundabout is worse than the 'Boro.

But sometimes that road rage is justifiable and it's directed at exactly the person who deserves it. I didn't get a case of personal road rage Friday and Saturday when I was watching the clean-up efforts after the tornado hit Murfreesboro. I got a case of sympathetic road rage at all of the gawkers and gawpers cruising slowly along the damaged streets and interfering with rescue and recovery efforts.

As a reporter, I'm a professional gawker and gawper, for Pete's sake, and even I know to stay out of the way of the pretty flashing lights.

A friend of ours was on I-24 when the funnel dropped across the road in front of him. He saw the trucks turned over, the cars sliding across the blacktop like Hot Wheels on a hardwood floor. He also saw everyone fighting to get to an exit, crowding across the shoulders and median so that when the First Responders arrived in their emergency vehicles, they could not get to the victims.

OK, it wasn't road rage. It was completely understandable and justifiable indignation. I have never understood why people don't get over to the side of the road when an ambulance or other emergency vehicle comes through, sirens wailing and lights flashing. I don't understand why they have to slow down and rubberneck at the scene of an accident. (I have to cover accidents sometimes and hate it. I can't imagine doing it just for morbid curiosity). And I truly don't understand why they had to pass a law telling people to move over to another lane when there is an emergency or law enforcement vehicle pulled over on the side of the road.

It shouldn't be a law --it should be common sense.

I would willingly sacrifice common courtesy -- such as not stealing parking places from angry, middle-aged women who have been waiting for them for 10 minutes and smirking as you do it -- if we could replace it with common sense. I'll give up my parking place if others will learn how to give way to the First Responders.