I was driving to the airport to pick up my parents. I was using the minivan because the oil level light on my sedan kept popping on and I was scared. The minivan's check engine light stays on, and the seat belt light keeps blinking, but my parents assure me that it's been that way for months and everything seems to be fine.
And it was. Sure, it's an unsexy working van, but it hauls ass. In fact, it accelerates faster and smoother than my luxury car (even though it is seven years older than my parents' van). I knew this when a white Cadillac cut in front of me without turning its turn signal on while we were on the highway. I've usually let this slide, but for some reason, this crossed a line. This car didn't do anything particularly bad to me; it's not like the driver gave me the finger, and there have been many other cars that cut me off much closer than this one did. Because I felt more confident in a better car or that I had enough, it took me a couple minutes of seeing this goddamn car continue to zoom away from me -- to get away with what it did -- for me to say to hell with the increased police presence over Thanksgiving Weekend and chase this fucker down. I'll have time to brake, and besides, my parents will understand.
So I take the minivan up to 70, then 80, then 85. Holy shit, this van can buck! And buck well! None of the cars were suddenly braking or slowing down, so the coast was clear of the po-po and I was free to track down the car that wronged me. It took a little while for me to match her speed, then exceed it. About five minutes and three miles later, I caught up to her; she had what looked to be a South Dakota license plate. I was prepared to remember it in case I remember to report her online to the state.
Then, she signaled -- oh, now he signals! -- and moved over to the right. You afraid of me, bitch, huh? You afraid of me? Then I realized; I won. I just won! She knew I was the car whom she cut off, and she gave up because she knew she lost!! Yes!!! ... wait. Maybe she wanted to slow down because she didn't know where she was going. Or maybe she just decided to slow down at that point regardless. You know, maybe she was absentmindedly cutting people off because she zoned out, and now that she's snapped out of it, she (or he) started to drive more like a grown-up. If this person really wanted to be an asshole, he (or she -- never caught the gender of the driver) wouldn't've moved out of the way.
And now what I thought was my triumph, a very rare case of road rage justice where no one got hurt, has now made me feel empty. The driver wasn't acting pissed off or bitter, he or she didn't submit once I caught up to him or her. He or she appeared to do his or her own thing without regard to how it affected me. It's not right what the driver did. But there's no way to communicate how that made me feel, not when the person just decided to stop being an asshole and started driving at a normal speed. This person stopped road ragin' at his own choosing, thus denying me my revenge.
I guess I can take solace in returning the dusting. I kept driving between 65 and 70 while this white Caddy seemed to disappear in my rearview mirror. And I needed every one of those seconds I made up driving at subsonic speed; I got to the airport less than ten minutes before I saw my 'Rents coming down the escalator.
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