The best road rage I’ve ever seen was this girl screaming out of her car window “I hope you don’t fuck like you drive!” I still think about that sometimes.
Timidly, even though you have the right of way?
While singing to yourself, badly?
For long, dreary stretches at a time, most of which you don’t remember afterwards?
With an inescapable, nagging worry that this’ll be the day something breaks down?
With your windows rolled down and the wind in your hair and the radio turned up?
With infuriating ponderousness, despite increasingly vociferous requests for you to please pick up the pace, some of us don’t have all day?
With the nagging worry that you’re being judged and that you really need some body work done and a new coat of paint, and that you’re just kidding yourself by insisting that your ride “has character?”
With a willingness to slam on the brakes if a small animal unexpectedly darts in front of you?
With the suspicion that you probably should have cleaned up a bit more beforehand? (They aren’t saying anything, but you’re sure they’re judging your for the mess.)
Only when you have to, because it’s really stressful and not something you feel like you’re good at?
With a series of workarounds for broken or fiddly mechanisms? (“Oh! Sorry, that bit doesn’t work, you’ve gotta do it like this. No, it’s cool, everyone has trouble with that.”)
With periodic flashes of panic when you realize your attention had drifted and oh god oh god that could’ve gone so terribly wrong?
With occasional moments where the banality of the activity falters and you suddenly realize what a tremendous, amazing, monstrously dangerous thing you’re actually doing?
With a gnawing, sinking loneliness in the pit of your gut?
With a habit of getting distracted by the scenery, especially if it’s a nice day?
With your mind stuck on the fact that you spent all that time getting dressed up really nice and now your clothes are just kind of all scrunched up everywhere and your shoes are just tossed in a corner nevermind your hair and it’s going to be so much work to make yourself presentable again and where are you even going to find a mirror?
Plagued by thoughts of “Was that there last time? I’d swear I haven’t seen it before, but it doesn’t look new or anything, I guess I just wasn’t paying very close attention?”
With inexplicably cold feet, despite the fact that the rest of you is practically boiling?
Often interrupted by the need to check a map?
Often frustrated by a lack of clear signage?
With far greater comfort if you have someone giving you directions, because even if you’re going the right way you’re never confident of that and it’s nerve-wracking?
Occasionally in a rush, ‘cause you’re already late for a thing?
Mildly annoyed at your friends for constantly calling you up for rides, since you’re apparently the only one who drives? You don’t mind, honestly, but sometimes it feels like they’re taking you for granted.