Road Rage

I never understood the concept of road rage.
Oh sure, I get the idea of anger at bad drivers, and even the “flight of the bird” after exhibitions of inferior driving skills.
But the California version of road rage was difficult to grasp, replete with roadside fist fights and occasional gunplay.
Why would anyone shoot another person over something as innocuous as cutting someone off while entering the freeway?
Then I visited California for the first time last week.
Now I get it.
I’m in San Diego for 15 minutes, and I’M looking for a gun shop!
No disrespect to the state of California and all 20 jillion residents, but unless you have a dying patient in your back seat, is it really necessary to weave in and out of traffic at 85 mph like a crazed Martha Stewart on speed trying to finish an afghan?
I’ve been on bumper car attractions at the fair that featured better driving.
It’s even more amazing when you consider that the attitude is completely different just a few miles South.
While visiting Mexico the day before, I was treated to a phenomenon that I thought only afflicted three-year-olds and escapees from the “I Am Bulletproof” Institute.
People on one side of the street who wanted to be on the other side of the street just stepped out in front of the oncoming traffic and headed to their destination.
It poked enormous holes in the old joke “Why did the chicken cross the road?”
The real question should be “HOW did the chicken cross the road?”
After a while I realized that this wasn’t an aberration, but a custom.
Nobody got mad at anybody, there was no cacophony of offended car horns, no flight of “birds” at the pedestrian, just a laid-back acceptance of this tradition that would have filled hospitals back home.
I must admit that I was a little hesitant at first, but before long I was calmly stepping out in front of speeding taxis like a San Luis native.
I suspect the tradition was born of a place that wasn’t big on traffic lights or stop signs.
In fact, the area I visited wasn’t really big on streets, curbs, or sidewalks, and showed a complete absence of such things as traffic cops or crossing guards.
Admittedly there is a lot less to see in this part of Mexico than in Southern California, which might explain the lack of haste south of the border.
If you’ve seen one three-legged dog eating out of a garbage bag on a downtown corner, you’ve seen them all.
That’s not to say that things are safer in Mexico, but they are definitely slower.
If only we could instill a touch of this ‘tude in the driving populace of Cali, we might cure road rage in our lifetime.