It doesn’t take too much to give me road rage. I can hide it pretty well, through gritted teeth and feigned patience. But sometimes, when I’m behind the wheel, I can feel an animalistic sensation taking over my morality, pulling me to go Dexter all over someone’s ass, even for truly insignificant shit. Like when the person in front of you has a turn signal on for about a mile or so, before they realize their own friggin’ obliviousness.

"Well...maybe they've missed their turn, or they're lost...wait, nope, just an asshole, my mistake."

“Well…maybe they’ve missed their turn, or they’re lost…wait, nope, just an asshole, my mistake.”

Or, when people drive directly alongside of you for long distances, as if it were some kind of game to align their car with yours.

He was just looking for a highway buddy. Don't mind the line of cars screaming obscenities behind him.

He was just looking for a highway buddy. Don’t mind the line of cars screaming obscenities behind him.

But…

You know what really boils my egg?

Tailgaters.

When people unnecessarily feel like treating the front of their car like a puppy’s nose, and the back of your car like…well, I guess you can figure it out.

"Wow, he's really friendly!"

“Wow, he’s really friendly!”

I get it. You were running late this morning. Your daughter took that extra ten minutes in the bathroom that you usually like to use as “me time.” Your son needed help cheating on his take-home math exam, and trigonometry isn’t how you remembered it from when you were in school. Your wife slammed you with questions about visiting the in-laws over the weekend, and then decided to ream you out for seeming to have a “lack of interest in her family.”

"It's not that I don't love them. It's that I don't like them, and seeing them makes me want to punt children."

“It’s not that I don’t love them. It’s that I don’t like them, and seeing them makes me want to punt children.”

So now you’re behind schedule, and now you’ve hit that brick wall traffic mess that you’ve been trying to avoid. But if you think for one second that moving a half an inch away from the bumper of the car in front of you will somehow get you closer to work, you’re poorly mistaken.

You’re in the same line of traffic as everyone else. The moment that you accept that, the moment you’ll understand that these little mental tricks you play on yourself are actually just that – tricks. Keep a safe distance from the car in front of you. At least six inches should do the trick.

Just like in Catholic school - Jesus weeps every time genitals touch.

Just like in Catholic school – Jesus weeps every time genitals touch.

But, more importantly, I detest those tailgaters in the fast-moving traffic. The ones who ride your ass for miles, treating each moment of braking as a test of reflexes. The ones who, when looking into your rear-view mirror, you can count every wrinkle in their frustrated foreheads. Just like in heavy traffic, they haven’t realized yet that being glued to your bumper doesn’t make their trip any faster. Maintaining a healthy distance and speed does the exact same thing, with a fraction of the heart attacks.

So, what’s the reason, then? Are you simply doing your very best to make sure no one cuts in front of you in line? Have we become so juvenile that a traffic lane is now the pizza line in elementary school? Look, we’re not gonna run out of pepperoni if someone slips in for a moment, so take your Ritalin and relax.

If you get anything out of what I’ve been trying to tell you, please make it this – when you’re on the road, remember that the person in front of you has the utter disappointment of having to look back at your agitated face.

“Objects in mirror are closer than they appear” also applies to douchebags.

I assure you, we all have to pee. You're no more special than the rest of us.

I assure you, we all have to pee. You’re no more special than the rest of us.

Consider this egg: boiled.

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