Cell Phones Cause Road Rage

Specifically mine, but I'll get to that in a minute.

Much to my mother's chagrin, I have a theory about old people and cars. After a certain age (any year older than me--that would be 38), people should be tested for reflexes behind the wheel. As their reflexes slow, they should be forced to buy smaller cars.

Right now, the opposite is true. Old people tend to drive huge cars like New Yorkers, Buick Centurys, Olds Cutlasses, Buick Riviaras, Chrysler LeBarons, Cadillac Devilles... You get the idea. These two-ton tanks wipe out anything in their paths. Loping ride, loose power steering (so you only have to drive with a finger, don't you know) and heavy weight combine lethally. If you're in an accident with one of these beasts you're in trouble--especially if the gas is hit "accidentally" instead of the brake.

Nope, old people should drive proportionally smaller cars ending up on Mopeds. When they lose the motor control for those--they get to drive, yup! you guessed it, Scooters. What happened to good old fashioned bipedal transportation (walking) is anyone's guess. The logic for this is flawless, if I do say so myself. If you get in a wreck with a Chevy Aveo, all ten pounds of it, you don't do much damage--except to yourself. But that doesn't really matter, does it? You're at the end of a rich and storied life, your reflexes are nearly gone (otherwise you'd be driving a tricked out Hummer) and so it's a good way to go. Even better, no one else get's killed because you lack the self-awareness that you are not just past your prime, you're (shhhh!) geriatric.

There is a caveat in there for civil liberties nuts: if at 85 you have the reflexes of Mario Andretti, enjoy. Drive your semi, deisel dually, or monster SUV with pride--just make sure you stop before rolling over pedestrians.

But I digress. My real reason for writing this is not marauding old people, but rather marauding people yacking on cell phones. This destructive habit cuts across all demographics: old, young, male, female, black, white, purple, stupid, dumb, mentally challenged.

There was a time when a car driving outside the lines meant a drunk driver, that a crushingly slow driver meant illegal aliens or old people, that distracted drivers meant cowboys in pick-up trucks or women doing their make-up. You could be sure that someone doing all of the above being a blue-haired lady squinting over the steering wheel.

No more. Now, a perky blonde in a revved-up Mustang could be driving slow because she's IMing her buddy instead of driving.

Driving home from Aikido today during rush hour, one lane was driving snail-pace slow. Why? Of course, some little gnome with an earplug was hunched over having an EXTREMELY IMPORTANT CONVERSATION.

I'm convinced that car phone blabbers are really talking to you and me, the person at the other end of the line is secondary. What's the message?

"Hello dahling. I am so popular, so important, so rushed, so, so, so! I have the power to STOP TRAFFIC, that's how cool I am."

These people bugged me in High School. Now I want to run them over. Fantasies of big black Suburbans smashing Toyota Camrys and Mercedes C230s flicker through my consciousness. Visions of Kathy Bate's character in Fried Green Tomatoes causes me to internally smile. Then my children scream at each other and my fantasies fiz out and it becomes clear that I'm trapped.

Trapped, isn't that what these narcissistic yackers desire? Perhaps it is a subversive action to extend control where they feel helpless. Or maybe these people are incapable of being fully present. Being present is not the easiest is it? Lot's of us create BUSY-NESS so we can ignore what is right in front of our face--whether driving or in any other aspect of our life.

Or maybe, my helplessness and rage are manifested around these people. Okay, okay, since these people don't appear to be going anywhere, maybe I can learn to enjoy the ride--anyway, but I doubt it.