Idiot!

"Idiot!" muttered my husband as the driver in front of us made a right hand turn from the left lane. I glanced into the backseat to see if the kids were listening. They were busy arguing over whether one of them should stop humming just because it was irritating the other one.

I don't remember my husband having road rage when we first met thirteen years ago. He had an ancient, red Nissan Sentra which he drove because it got great gas mileage and a pick-up truck which he used for work. The Sentra smelled like gasoline, had dust everywhere, and the passenger door creaked very loudly announcing one's arrival in the quietest of neighborhoods but it was the car he courted me in so I had a special fondness for it. Mike knew his way all around the San Francisco bay area and I loved leaving the city driving to him. He was a good driver; never tailgated, never spoke ill of other driver's mothers, and never got traffic violations.

The week before our wedding, Mike and I drove to the San Francisco airport to pick up the matron of honor and her husband who were coming from Sweden. I was driving and as we exited Golden Gate Park onto 19^th Avenue, the driver in front of us suddenly double-parked in the right-hand lane and hopped out in front of a bar. Feeling confident and happy at seeing my best friend within the hour, I beeped to tell him he was blocking traffic.

The driver of the car jumped back in and roared after us. He caught up at the next light. We were surrounded by three lanes of traffic but he maneuvered aggressively in behind us. He threw his car into Park and left it running right in the middle of 19^th Avenue. Then he stalked up to our car, all pumped-up muscles and menace.

"Jesus, he's coming around to your side!" I said as he arrived on the passenger side, presumably choosing to go a few rounds with my husband rather than with me.

"Get out!" the man growled through the partially-opened window. It was a hot October day and he wore a wife-beater and half a dozen gold chains around his neck.

My husband had a tight grip on his door. He was seated and the man standing close to the door had every advantage. Mike told me later that he was prepared to kick open the door and try to catch the guy off-guard if he made a move.

My mind, unable to cope with the idea of a disfigured groom or the mortal danger we were both in, decided to worry about my car--a beat-up Volvo station wagon with 150,000 miles on it. Embarrassed at the car's rattiness, I had spent the previous day detailing it. I had carefully washed all the windows, vacuumed out the dog hair, and disguised the tears in the faux-leather seating with seat covers from Kragen Auto. Now, in the midst of all this seething testosterone, I was worried the car would be damaged. I knew as I was thinking it that this was a ridiculous thing to worry about but I couldn't help myself.

"Guys!" I pleaded. "This isn't worth it." I looked the man in the eye. "I'm sorry for beeping at you. Let's just forget it, huh?"

The man stood there a few more moments, growled a few unprintables, then swaggered back to his car. The light changed and stepped on it. He followed us up 19^th for a long way and until finally turning off.

Since then, I rarely beep at anyone. It's not worth it. I witness driving transgressions and let them go, water off of a duck's back. Mike, on the other hand, talks constantly to other drivers. He honks, rolls down his window, calls names. He seems genuinely surprised every time he's on the road that other drivers make poor decisions. I have had to forbid him recounting to me all the day's driving transgressions against him. I just don't want to hear them. Let it go, I urge him. Why carry this around with you? When I asked him why he honks he said it's because he's hoping other drivers will see their mistake and change their ways. I reminded him what Benjamin Franklin said, "The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results."

I checked the backseat again to see what the kids were doing. They were staring out their separate windows. A car swerved away from the curb in front of us and Mike tapped the brake.

"Idiot!" muttered one of the kids.