Road rage? Try Ritalin (roadrage) 2.1.02

If the snow dump Mother Nature dropped on us Thursday has proved nothing else, it is that I am an awesome driver. I am not just a great driver as far as stunts and wheelies are concerned but it's the little things I excel at. The two-second following rule, turning into a skid, pumping the breaks - all good rules especially in bad weather.
Even when the weather isn't horrid, I rock behind the wheel. I use my turn signal, stop BEFORE the crosswalks not in them and I never cut people off if I can help it.
On the other side of the planet, energy exists as either wave or particle. Waves and particles disrupt or change other waves and particles, which is why leaving your television on all night keeps the ghosts away. That is basic science.
There is another kind of bad voodoo energy that seems incapable of disruption and that is road rage. For some reason or other people are just ungodly mad about something these days. Who can blame them? We live in uncertain times. Mad bombers aside, this economy is no picnic and who likes to feel like chattel?
I would like to claim to be above any and all road rage, but I am not. In fact, as I type this column my fingers hurt from all of the flipping off I've been doing lately. I think I'm getting carpal tunnel syndrome and may soon have to wear a special brace when I drive.
The problem is the force I use. In order to signal one's disgust at other drivers with authority, one must first brace the middle finger against the thumb and then with a flicking motion move the middle finger into the full upright position.
This gives that most offensive of digits a sort of lightening quickness.
It's a kind of magic that makes the finger almost appear from nowhere.
I don't live far from the Nonpareil building, in fact, I live in a cave under the Dodge House and enter and exit only under the cover of darkness in my jet-powered Caprice Classic... not unlike Batman.
It takes me five minutes to get to and from work, yet in that time, I will invariably come across drivers who get livid at the slightest perceived failure of other drivers to conform to their Utopian idea of traffic flow.
It isn't just drivers. Last week this otherwise lovely octogenarian gentleman had a conniption fit because I stopped a bit quickly in front of his crosswalk. I didn't enter it, just stopped quickly.
He stood looking far off to the south as I tooted my horn letting him know I was more than happy to allow him to cross, he WAS there first and I believe that is his right. I tooted my horn pulling him gently from his reverie. A toot that said, hey, I care about your health and welfare on this chilly day.
Then he said something while waving his arms I couldn't quite make out that sounded like "ducking glass bird, thumb in the ditch?!"
Needless to say, I was stunned and wondered what a ducking glass bird might be.
Of course, I flipped him off. Didn't want to, felt I owed it to him.
That was when I felt the pop in my knuckle that my doctor, a famous Jordanian biathlete, said was the worst case of repetitive stress disorder he had seen outside of one particular baboon at the Henry Doorly Zoo.
I would have to take it easy.
On the way out of the parking lot, his nurse cut me off. She knew what she was doing. So I raised the back of my hand, lowered my thumb and pinkie finger and shouted, "Read between the lines, Florence Nightingale!"
On the way home, I was tailgated by a red SUV with vanity plates that read "JETSKRS." I wondered what "jetsuckers" was supposed to mean as I applied my break light to no avail. A little trick I learned in driver's ed circa 1984, not actually slowing down, just giving the impression that if I were to stop ... watch out!
Then jetsuckers passed me in the turning lane of North Broadway as I was about to make my appropriately signaled lane changer doing 50 m.p.h. in a 35 m.p.h. zone. I know because after I missed my turn I had nothing better to do than follow jetsucker, gauge jetsuckers speed and write down jetsuckers license plate number to turn in to the cops for reckless driving.
Two seconds, folks, it's not too much to ask.
Like most things, road rage is a symptom of a greater problem. It's like attention deficit disorder for adult drivers - a critical impatience combined with far too much horsepower and an insatiable desire to control the road. Perhaps Ritalin is the answer.
It's as though life, being an uncontrollable mess most days, should at least be serene on the streets and when it is not, artificially empowered by huge engines and a ton of metal, we become a tool for vengeance. Well, a tool anyway.
Recently, a truck driver smashed another truck driver between the rig and the other trucker's after a road rage altercation. This is not simple rage, this is sadistic revenge fantasy stuff for people who spend WAY too much time on the road.
We could all advocate taking it easier but that is not usually an option for Americans. We like to go and go fast lest we feel unproductive. So it goes.
Think before you get in your car and think twice before you get mad. Don't take things personally and try not to be unreasonable on either side of the fence. Going too fast or too slow are equally likely to irritate others.
And remember that while flipping people off feels good for a little while, it ultimately leaves you feeling empty inside, distances you from others and can tear the ligaments in your finger if you do it too hard.