There’s a strange and disturbing transformation that occurs in a frightening number of the population when they get behind the wheel of their car. In some drivers the mere suggestion of a slight or a perceived injustice is enough to morph even the most mild-mannered mum, gentle granddad or sensible student into a rage-filled beast with a red-hot temper that burns with the intensity of a thousand suns.
Such righteous and furious anger must be released lest these drivers explode in their cars like foul-mouthed fireworks. To vent they either punch their car horn with the same cold-blooded power of boxing legend Mike Tyson in his prime or they raise their middle finger to the sky and passionately shake it at the offender like they’re the maracas player in a Cuban cha-cha-chá band.
Like Covid, the disease of road rage can infect anyone but unlike covid, there’s sadly no vaccine.
Before continuing, I’ll put these stones I’m holding down, step outside of my glass house and admit that I too have, on very rare occasion, succumbed to this affliction. But these days I try to be cooler than any number of cucumbers when I’m in my car. Not because I’m suddenly all Zen but rather because I don’t want to get killed over some jackass cutting me off, or merging unlike a zip and more like a total fricken pillock.
This is not an exaggeration. In November last year, this very paper ran a headline that read, “Nearly a third of Kiwis involved in road-rage incidents in the past year”. While a separate survey in 2021 saw 50 per cent saying they’d experienced road rage and 27 per cent of those people saying it involved aggressive or intimidating behaviour towards them. That same year, in Ōtorohanga, a road rage incident led to murder.