I'm not a nice person. Some of you may wholeheartedly agree with this statement. Some of you may be waiting for the punchline. But I'm not poking fun at myself. I mean it.
I've come to the conclusion, through no formal research other than spending five hours a week driving to and from work, that you can tell a lot about a person by the way they drive. It's not really that big of a leap. People feel invisible, inaudible, indestructible in their cars.
How many times have you caught some poor dolt picking his nose at a red light? Now, I'm not trying to say that the dolt is dirty or disgusting. I'm just saying he's human. And he's in his own space. And he had an itch. And he's forgotten that we can still see him. We've all forgotten.
Which is why we all tend to reveal our true selves behind the wheel.
And it's probably why I get so angry.
Because I realize that the driver who flies down the interstate entrance ramp and refuses to yield likely goes through life expecting everyone else to step aside while they forge ahead. The driver who doesn't make sure they can clear an intersection before entering is simply oblivious to everything and everybody around them. The driver who waits until the last minute to change lanes, keeping the entire line of cars behind them waiting until they catch a break is probably accustomed to making their problem everybody else's problem.
And then there's me: I'm quick to judge, slow to forgive, stubborn, impatient. Like I said...I'm not a nice person.
So, I'm working on it. I'm easing up on the gas. I'm waving people in. I'm trying to be a better person.
I guess I just wish everyone else would, too.
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