Anger Unleashed

Several years ago while traveling the highways and byways of this great country I encountered an angry person.   The experience remains vivid.  He was driving an 18-wheeler in the left-hand lane of a two-lane interstate.  I was merging onto the Interstate from the left.  The left merging lane was short and there was no “yield” sign (that I remember).    I had to either stop (there were many cars behind me trying to make the same merge) or “step on the gas” and get in front of that big rig.  I chose the latter course, and moved into what seemed to me to be a safe and sufficient opening available in front of the on-coming truck.  

The truck driver was infuriated with my maneuvering and immediately pulled up to within a foot or so behind me and blasted his horn for what seemed to be at least a full minute or more.  With only a foot separating an 18-wheeler from your little vehicle on a 65-mph  highway an air horn can be mighty intimidating.   He swerved into the right-hand lane and pulled up alongside me—and we were both moving at 65-mph.  He was speaking, I saw his lips moving, but could not hear what he was saying.  There was no need to hear what he was saying for his words were supplemented by many gestures that told me exactly what his words were.  I am sure he was making uncomplimentary references to my family tree, questioning my intellectual capacity, and suggesting where he thought I ought to spend eternity and the sooner I got there, as far as he was concerned, the better.

What triggered this rage so disproportionate to the event?  Had he had a bad morning?  Was he angry because he couldn’t make his monthly mortgage payment or had his wife left him the weekend before?  Or was he just an angry person? I had no idea.  I thought I was driving safely and with care, mindful of that big truck and of the traffic before and behind me, following the rules (and courtesies) of the road.   Apparently, the truck driver did not agree with my thinking or my careful driving.  He used the sheer power of that enormous truck he drove to intimidate me and make me feel like I had done something terribly wrong.  He spoke words I could not hear, but it seemed evident, just by watching his lips that he had no respect for me as a human being.  He used gestures that had no religious meaning, but were suggestive enough for me to know that he considered me among the lowest species of the animal kingdom.  

I think of this incident often.  I wonder if it would have made any difference if I had been able to apologize for whatever driving sin he felt I had committed.  In an ongoing relationship, in a community, there is an opportunity to apologize, to confess, to repent, to forgive, and to heal, but there is no such opportunity at 65 miles per hour between a little van and an 18-wheeled bully amid hundreds of other vehicles on a crowded Interstate.

Perhaps I should let Eleni drive?