Until this year, I always assumed that road rage was confined to those who actually drive. I now realize this assumption is incorrect. Though I don't own a vehicle, I must confess to harboring more rage while on certain roads than most people who own cars.
We've all felt it. Stuck in traffic, behind a particularly slow driver in a Lincoln Towncar, late to an important event because Mr. Careful in front of us misses five consecutive opportunities to merge into the turning lane -- whatever the scenario, the resulting emotion is always the same. We're trapped inside our cars fuming, left with no choice but to lay on the horn, scream out the window, and generally resort to behavior befitting a preschooler. In short, we rage.
My personal rage, however, happens outside any such vehicle. Try as I might to control myself, I'm forced into a position of anger as I attempt to cross the street. That's right. I'm walking, they're driving, and I feel the rage -- my own pedestrian road rage. If at this point you're thinking, "Gee, Abby. Something's not right about this picture," you are correct. Something definitely is not right with this picture, and that something is the blatant disregard for the law exhibited by the mindless drivers in this city.
Here's the situation: To get to and from Central Grounds, I must cross Emmett Street several times a day. Every morning I walk to the curb, smile pleasantly, and attempt to proceed. And every day I wait by said curb for at least five minutes with the same fixed smile on my face, trying to maintain composure as driver after oblivious driver sails past me.
I'm not asking for much. I just want to cross the street. I try my best to be reasonable. I make use of the crosswalk. I step onto the pavement assertively, signaling my cross-walking intentions. And yet, the cars drive on, as if they don't see me at all. Day after day I'm forced to endure this cruel treatment, wondering what it will take to compel Charlottesville's heartless drivers to stop.
Yesterday morning 19 cars passed me before anyone slowed down to let me cross. Several drivers waved politely, but no one stopped. Judging by their obtuse salutes, I gathered that the well-meaning drivers had no idea why I was standing in the crosswalk. As my temperature rose and the minutes passed, I decided I'd had enough.
Clearly my pedestrian status alone was not enough to guarantee safe passage. When I could handle the injustice no longer, I decided to act. With my eyes fixed on the driver heading toward me, I stepped off the curb, fully aware that doing so would cause the driver to slam on his brakes to avoid me. The fear of broken bones did not dissuade me. There was more at stake than a few life-threatening injuries. Crossing the street in an ambulance, I reasoned, would be better than not crossing at all.
Though I made it successfully across the street this time, it might not be so easy when I head home this afternoon. As everyone knows, the 2 p.m. traffic in Charlottesville is atrocious, what with residents having so many important places to go at that hour of the day. Maybe this time I will have to actually fling myself onto the hood of an oncoming car in order to cross. Maybe I'll need to don a blaze orange vest or enlist the help of a University Police officer. Or maybe I'll just wait until the football game this weekend, when traffic grinds to a halt anyway and I can weave between the cars more easily.
Yes, I have road rage, even without a car. I guess I'll need to develop a new emotion, though, because I'm quickly learning it doesn't help me cross the street any faster.
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