Reflecting on Road Rage

This morning, on my drive to work, I had a most remarkable experience. I stewed over it for more than two hours, then posted this to Facebook:

WARNING! If you get behind this car and the woman driving doesn't proceed because she's chatting on her cell phone, whatever you do, do NOT blow your horn to alert her to the situation. Otherwise, she will jump out of her car and yell at you and threaten you. That's what she did to me. Jeez! What a grump!





I thought that would allow me to put the incident to rest. But. It hasn't worked. I keep seeing her grey Victoria's Secret shirt and her bunched up hair, with that big mouth of hers not six inches from my face, yelling, "You don't want to fuck with me!" and, for a moment, I thought she was going to hit me. I just stared at her, thinking that if I didn't respond verbally, she would back off. And, she did.

I thought about giving her the finger and saying, "fuck you," but, in the nanosecond that it took me to choose NOT to do those things, I considered it would prevent things from escalating. Some folks are just looking for someone to go up against. For this particular individual, it wasn't going to be today and it wasn't going to be me.

The more I thought about what I coulda, woulda, shoulda done, the more I came to realize how vulnerable we are in our cars. Had I not had my window down enjoying the morning air, would she have smashed it? Had I attempted to back up and go around her, would that, could that have resulted in an ugly accident? And, the ferocity with which she attacked me, albeit verbally, and that element of surprise ... are those not the techniques the terrorists used in Paris and other locations around the world? What person thinks they're going to be shopping for bread or having dinner or sitting at a stop sign when some lunatic decides it's time to shoot them, bomb them, attack them, whether with weapons or with words? How are we to respond? Do we just sit there as I did or do we take action? And, how do we know which is the right thing to do?

After stewing over this for the better part of the day, I will make a conscious effort to be kind. I don't feel like being kind, to be perfectly honest. I feel like pounding some bitch's face in. But, I'm going to choose peace and joy and kindness. I'm also going to think about carrying my gun in my car.

If this was karma coming at me this morning, then I must be kind. Think kind thoughts. Do kind deeds. And, hope that wench in the black VW Jetta with Florida license plate 725LMK doesn't cross my path again. Next time I might not be so nice.

baby in the cradle

How odd.
I've discovered something that's NOT on Wikipedia.

Do you remember CB radios? They were popular with truck drivers before there were cell phones, allowing truckers to talk to each other while they were driving. They'd share weather and traffic info, alert their fellow drivers where the cops were set up with their speed traps, and if someone had trouble, a CB radio call brought help. When Burt Reynolds' movie, "Smokey and The Bandit" hit movie theatres across the country in 1977, CB radios became popular with mainstream America and the CB culture was born! Got that, good buddy?

I had been living in Key West for nearly seven years when Reagan's recession hit in 1983 and I lost all three of my jobs, one at a time. It was a desperate time for me. I didn't want to leave Key West. I loved it there. I wasn't a world traveler, so, I didn't know where else I could go and find work. I'd been playing around with the idea of Fort Lauderdale; I'd been there a couple of time with my girlfriend and it had a good vibe. But, you don't just up and move when you have a child. You have to plan and prepare. I wasn't yet smart enough to understand this, so I drove to my mother's in Virginia and left my daughter with my mom while I figured out what I was going to do. We agreed it would only be for a few weeks.

It was on that return trip to Key West that I learned about "baby in the cradle."

I was driving a 1977 Toyota Celica, like the one in the picture. From Key West to my mother's home in Virginia was a 13 hour ride, and, back then, I could handle it, stopping only when one of us had to go to the bathroom. It was me, the kid and our dog, and we made it to our destination without incident.

I stayed over for two nights, leaving my mom's right after dinner on the third day for the return run, thinking I could get through the Carolinas and Georgia and well into Florida by morning. Traffic late at night was mostly tractor trailers hauling freight. There weren't that many tourists driving to Florida back in the early 1980s; nothing like it is today. Disney World and Spring Break were folks' main reasons for coming to Florida back then.

I thought I was making really good time when I hit South of the Border at the NC/SC state line just after midnight, so I pulled into a Burger King for a cup of coffee and a bathroom break for me and the dog. I also bought her a hamburger. And, no, she didn't get the bun or the pickle; just the burger! When we'd finished our break, I got back into my car to head out, but it wouldn't start. It was definitely a "what the fuck" moment. Here I was, a long way from home with a tiny amount of money and no idea what to do.

I sat on the curb next to my car, the hood up, talking to the dog, trying to figure out what my next move was. I was grateful that it was night and there weren't a lot of people around. I was able to have a good cry. I'd been sitting there for a while when two guys came out of the Burger King and asked me what the problem was. I told 'em my car wouldn't start. The taller of the two walked over to his big rig and brought out a tool box. The other one, puffing on his Marlboro, poked around in the engine. It took them just a few minutes to diagnose my problem. The tall one said, "Your alternator is shot."

When I asked what that meant, they explained to me that they could get my car started, but, the battery wouldn't charge and I wouldn't be able to run my headlights. They suggested I wait until morning and return to my mother's in Virginia. They were clear that trying to drive to Key West without headlights was a risky thing to do. (Yes. I was foolish enough to think I could do it.)

I remember quietly crying and thanking them for their help and watching as they packed up their tools. The tall guy walked over to his truck, and the Marlboro man walked around behind the Burger King.

I watched as the tall one pulled his rig out onto the highway; then, he pulled over onto the shoulder of the highway. At the same time, the Marlboro man came around from behind the Burger King in his rig and stopped right in front of me. I was still sitting on the curb with the dog on the leash. Mr. Marlboro jumped down from his cab and walked toward me.

He asked me if I was a fan of "Smokey and the Bandit."

Well, of course I was! Who wasn't?

Then he asked me if I had a CB radio in my car.

I did. My handle was "Lady Blue."

Then, he explained to me what they (he and the the tall guy) could do. He asked me if I knew what "baby in the cradle" was. I didn't. Then he explained it.  I could drive my car in between their trucks without my headlights. They were going to Jacksonville, planning to be there come morning, and if I could keep up, this was what they would do for me.

I don't know why they were willing to help me. To this day I cannot tell you why these two men would help a weepy woman with a dog. But, they did. And, I was very grateful.

I asked the Marlboro man if I could go pee and, before he could answer, I handed him the dog's leash. I didn't know how long it would be before they stopped, but, I had consumed a cup of coffee and I needed to tinkle before we hit the road. I was definitely in.

Driving your car between two big rigs is intimidating. Under normal circumstances, when you hit your brakes, your car stops within a few car lengths, based on the speed at which you're traveling. A tractor trailer needs a lot more of those 'car lengths' to come to a complete stop, so there's no messing around when you're riding in the "cradle." I spent the night listening and watching and maintaining 70 mph.

I will admit that the first hour or so was a bit harrowing. If you've ever driven through Georgia via I-95, there is one long stretch that's just forest on both sides of the road for as far as you can see. Somewhere in that stretch of road I began to feel comfortable. They chatted it up on the CB and every now and then they would call out to me. I was so overwhelmed by their kindness that I didn't know what to say most of the time.

We stopped at a truck stop around 5 AM, about 30 miles from the Florida state line. They started talking to me about stopping a good half hour before we ever exited the highway. It was the hardest part for me, maintaining speed and distance, slowing down slowly while watching behind and in front. But, I did it. Or, THEY did it!

They bought me breakfast, waited while I got gas and we got out on the road that one last time. As we crossed the Florida state line, the sun was coming up and they got chatty on the CB. They began explaining to me what was going to happen when we got to Jacksonville, that they would be exiting the highway and I would continue on my journey to Key West. I remember telling them I wished there was some way I could thank them. And, I remember the Marlboro man saying, "Get home safe. That'll be thanks enough."

It's been a really long time since I thought about that trip from Virginia to Key West. A single memory, frozen in my mind. So, when it surfaced recently, as old memories are prone to do, I Googled "baby in the cradle." I was truly surprised that there was nothing at all. Not a single entry.

Since that time, I have loved and respected truck drivers. I'm the one who slows to let them pull over in front of me on the highway when no one else will. And, I'm the one who gets mad (and, blows her horn) at people who cut in front of big rigs. Those idiots need to spend a night in the 'cradle' to teach them a lesson! Although, these days, you probably won't see that happening. Too many cars, too many people and way too many regulations. And, lots of highway patrol officers.

Wherever the tall guy and the Marlboro man went, whatever they did after that night, I'm sure their good karma followed. Lucky for me those angels were on duty that night. They kept me safe and helped me get home. Thank you, both.

How it began ... (the story, that is)

It was almost 7:30 as Marley raced out the door, her arms laden with handbag, camera bag and briefcase. She jokingly referred to herself as a bag lady. She loaded the stuff into the back seat of her car, got into the driver's seat, retrieved her water bottle from her purse and placed it in the cup holder, then slipped the key into the ignition of her Saturn Ion, cranking the car to go.  It was a quiet morning and no one was on the street. She usually saw Peggy from across the street, or Lou from the corner house, out walking their dogs at this time of day, so Marley figured they were running behind this morning. She chuckled to herself as she pulled into the street, heading west toward Andrews Avenue. “Aren’t we all running behind?” she said aloud.

Marley’s place was located in an old Florida neighborhood with an eclectic mix of houses and multi-family homes; McMansions from the recent real estate boom and suburban homes from the 1940s mixed with larger cookie cutter houses built in the late 1970s. There was no direct route, so Marley had to wend her way through the narrow streets until she reached the traffic signal at Andrews and 21st Court. She looked north and south and saw no traffic at all, and, as she wondered how long she’d have to wait for what she considered the longest light in Broward County, she heard the click of the pedestrian crosswalk sign flashing red. Twenty seconds later, the light changed to green.

Marley turned south onto Andrews and drove her usual route … west on 13th Street, south on 7th Avenue, then west on Sunrise Boulevard. After seven years of driving to and from work in Davie, some 15 miles south and west of her home, she’d uncovered the quickest and least stressful routes and kept them to herself. There were a few things she was private about, and her travel route was one of those things. She didn't need all those extra cars clogging up her journey back and forth to work.

   

As she pulled up to the traffic signal at Seventh and Sunrise, the first thing she noticed was the BP station on the corner looked like it was closed. It was a 24-hour station and that seemed odd for a Thursday. Again, there was no traffic. Marley looked east before turning onto Sunrise, and as the car’s speed increased, she began to realize something wasn’t right. There were no cars on Sunrise Boulevard at 7:40 AM on a weekday morning. There was no traffic coming from downtown Fort Lauderdale. No buses. She turned on the radio, winding the knob to increase the sound. It was on a light station and Katy Perry was singing about fireworks.

She ran the red light at Powerline Road after she slowed to look both ways. No traffic anywhere. She pushed her speed up to 65 and blew through the school zone’s flashing yellow light and another traffic signal. The crossing guard was absent. No pedestrians on the street. No cars in Burger King’s drive thru. When she reached the I-95 overpass, she pulled into the left turn lane, put the car in “park” and left it running while she got out. She walked across four lanes of traffic and looked down onto I-95 southbound. Not a car or truck or motorcycle anywhere, north or south bound. All she could hear was the traffic signal changing. The airport located to the south was quiet and the skies were empty. She knew there were planes taking off and landing all day long because the airport served 23 million passengers a year. But, there were no planes anywhere.

Tri-Rail runs on the west side and parallel to I-95, and Marley watched, knowing the trains ran every 20 minutes.  She waited.

Three minutes passed and no train. Marley walked back to her car and fished around in her glove box, locating a pack of cigarettes. She found the lighter, lit her smoke and grabbed her cell phone, walking back across the road. Still no train. Still no cars. Anywhere. She stood and smoked and tried to decide if she was dreaming or if this was real.

The heat of the sun, now fully up, was real. She felt a light wind coming from the ocean to the east. The smoke in her lungs as she inhaled was real.

She listened. The only sound came from the traffic signals changing from green to yellow to red. She remembered how quiet it had been when she sailed to the Dry Tortugas those many years ago and said out loud, “What the fuck?” She looked at her watch. It was now 7:53 AM and still no train.

She swiped her smart phone and found her husband’s cell number. He was running the Swiffer around the kitchen when she left and she hoped he wasn’t already in the shower. He picked up on the second ring.

“Carl.”

“What?”

“Carl. Something’s wrong.”

“What?” She could hear the concern in his voice. Him thinking she’d been in a wreck.

“There’s no traffic.”

“Well. Good.” He waited.

She waited.

She turned and looked north, to see if a train or vehicle was anywhere in sight. “Carl, there are no cars on the road.” She took a breath.  “ Anywhere.”

“What?” This time his voice sounded like he didn’t understand what she said.

“There are no cars on the road anywhere. I haven’t seen another car or person since I left the house.”

She was waiting to wake up.

He didn’t respond. Why didn’t he respond? “Carl.”

“What?” Now he sounded irritated.

“Carl, get in your car and drive up here to Sunrise at I-95. Now.”

“I’m not dressed,” he said. Carl is very particular about his appearance and would never dream of leaving the house without being fully dressed.

“Carl, put on some jeans and shoes and drive up here! NOW!” She felt the tension rising.

“Let me take a shower.”

“No! Now, Carl! NOW!” Now she was yelling into the phone.

She heard the disconnect and clicked her phone off. She went back to her car, got in, turned the air conditioner on high and turned up the volume on the radio. The light channel was now playing an old Simon & Garfunkle tune. “Sounds of Silence.”  “How appropriate,” Marley muttered to herself. She kept hitting the scan key. The Rolling Stones on the oldies station.  Then, silence on the Spanish station. Silence on NPR. Beethoven on the classical music station. Silence, again, on another Spanish station. She hit the scan button to return to the light music station. Simon and Garfunkle were still singing. She waited. The song ended. She waited for the commercial or the disc jockey to give a traffic report or something. Just silence.

 “I must be dreaming. This can’t be real.”

She pulled out another cigarette and fired it up. She rolled the window down a bit and located her brother’s phone number on her cell. She hit the call button, inhaled the smoke and waited. It went to voice mail.

She hit the end button and searched for her office number. She hit the call button and put the phone to her ear. The phone rang five times and then she heard the answering machine with Cindy’s voice. “You have reached …” She hung up.

She got back out of the car and walked back across the road to the overpass rail. She tossed her cigarette down onto I-95 and watched it land on the road below. She watched as it rolled along the black top, drifting on the road, alone.

She heard Carl coming down the road before she could see him. His silver SUV emerged from the weeping fig trees that lined Sunrise Boulevard and then, just as quickly, he was pulling up behind her car. He shut the engine off and got out. Marley could tell by the look on his face that he was as weirded out by this as she was. Clearly he had done what she told him. He was wearing jeans and a clean white tee shirt and his Birkenstock sandals. And, he hadn't taken a shower yet.

“What the hell’s going on?” he said as he moved across the asphalt toward her.

“I don’t know,” she said quietly.  

He came to stand beside her. “Something’s happened, Carl. I don’t know what, but something has happened. Something really bad.”

They stood together on the overpass, looking down onto the eight lane highway which was usually bumper-to-bumper at this hour. “Have you been smoking?” he asked.

“Carl. Who cares? There’s no one here but me. And, you.”

“I thought you quit.”

“Carl! Pay attention!” She got so frustrated with him because he always focused on the wrong thing.  “Where are all the people? Huh?  Where are the cars with people in them, Carl?” She spread her arms and turned from side to side to get him to look around.

He looked puzzled, just as he looked when he saw her playing with her dolls. She looked up into his face, forcing him to look at her. “Where did they go?”

Carl walked away from her, back toward his car. “I’m going home,” he said, and got into his car, backing up to pull around her vehicle. She could tell by his actions that he was pissed. He always got pissed when he thought she’d been smoking.  As she walked back onto the road towards her own car, he made a u-turn at the signal, swerved around her in the middle of the road and sped down the road heading east, disappearing into the weeping figs lining the road. 

Marley got into her car and followed Carl's path. As she made the u-turn to go back east, she felt it in her gut. Things have changed. And, this isn’t a dream.