There’s something mind-numbingly aggravating about people who can’t drive. I’m not talking about people who actually cannot operate a motor vehicle. Nope. I’m talking about those people who are supposed to know how to drive. But really truly honestly don’t have a sweet clue. People who through some inexplicable series of events (read: voodoo, juju and/or hypnosis), managed to obtain a driver’s license.
These are the people who cut you off, the people who don’t when, where, why or how to signal, the people who tailgate you, the people who do 60 (kilometres) in the fast lane, the people whose three point turns end up being twelve point turns, the people who can’t merge onto the highway like they have an iota of common sense, the people who couldn’t parallel park for a million bucks plus an extra five years tacked onto their life span- people who will hold up the whole entire street while they try six hundred and twenty two times to fit their teeny weeny smart car into a gynormous spot that’s big enough for an 18 wheeler. No doubt, the car is smart. They, however, are still dumb.
But the really crazy thing is that nine times out of ten, those people who can’t drive somehow believe that you’re the one who can’t drive. Insert confused BlackBerry smiley. I’m talking about that dumbo in front of you at the stop light who texts or fixes their false lashes or wanks or does whatever the hell they are doing and doesn’t notice when the light turns green. And then when you honk, they give you a dirty look as if you’re the moron. They might even give you the finger too before they speed off. And they make the light… And you don’t.
You almost want to run the red light, follow them home and give them a thorough beating.
Yup, that’s how road rage happens.
You could actually be a nice person but ignorant driving turns you into something else. It’s like you’re a gremlin who has been to a buffet after midnight. Or jumped into the Atlantic. Or taken centerstage at a light show. You instantaneously go from cute and cuddly to psycho and scary. Take me for instance- I don’t even swear… except when I’m driving. See? You get behind the wheel and all of a sudden, you flip people off freely. You swear at them. You press down on your car horn, move your stuff in and just stay there forever. You curse their forefathers and their unborn children.
But some people do even crazier things than that. Some people will throw stuff at your car. Or get out of the car to fight. Or intentionally hit your car. Or actually run a red light and follow you home to give you that through beating. It happens.
Once, a friend of mine ran across the street in the middle of the road, causing the driver of an oncoming vehicle to have to slow down. The driver of the car spat at her- that greenish yellow mucus/phlegm filled kind of spit. Disgusting, yeah, I know. Unfortunately or fortunately (depending on whose perspective you are looking at it from), his window was up. Ha! Karma is a bitch that does get it right every now and then.
Which bring us to me- I was driving the other night and someone crossed the road right in front of my car. It wasn’t an intersection and definitely wasn’t his right of way. Mind you, he didn’t run either. No, siree. He took a leisurely stroll in the middle of the street. In fact, he acted like he was at church walking down the aisle to go get communion- all slow and solemn and calm. I was headed to the hospital because someone very close to me had just found out they needed to have surgery. It was an emergency too so they were going to be starting the operation in a matter of hours. There was already chaos in my mind and here comes this moron strolling across the street in front of my car as if he was walking from the TV to the couch in his living room.
Guys, I wound down my window, opened my eyes wide, flared my nostrils, bared my teeth, popped my veins and then I emptied my lungs of air, “Bastaaaahhhd!”
Honestly, as soon as the word left my lips, I was shocked. I didn’t even know that that word was still in my vocabulary as an insult. Let alone, that it would come so readily to me.
By the way, just so you know there was not an “R” within a 20 mile radius of my pronunciation of the word. It was just straight up “bastahhhhhd.” Pure unadulterated Naija.
Afterward, when I told my friend about it, she was bewildered, “Koko, what happened to asshole or jerk or f**king moron?”
I really have no idea…
I guess you can take the girl out of Naija, but a dumb road user will take her back in a flash… Or however the saying goes.