My Bad

I cannot stand it when drivers give each other the finger. It's totally rude, and it strikes me as particularly mean-spirited. Like, I'm sorry that I accidentally cut you off, but "f^#& me?" Really?

Part of my objection is tactical, since the finger isn't the best weapon when you're really angry. I've found that nothing further infuriates an aggressive driver like giving them the peace sign, which is my standard "finger" alternative.

Thus, it is uncharacteristic of me that I repeatedly, angrily flipped someone off today. (In my defense, it has been 19 months since my last documented case of road rage and I was alone in my car...this time.)

I was waiting at a light behind a Porsche Boxter, waiting to turn onto Pacific Drive after shopping at the Dulles Wegman's. There were only two cars in queue -- the Boxter and me -- so there should have been plenty of time to make the light. Unfortunately Mr. Boxter took his sweet time turning the corner and seemed to drive at a snail's pace purposely to ensure that I wouldn't have time to turn.

I cannot defend what happened next.

Focused on making the light, my reptilian brain seemed to take over. I distantly heard someone -- apparently me -- yelling at Mr. Boxter: "Turn! Come on, turn! YOU are a [beep]! YOU are a [beep]!)

My finger took on a life of its own, punctuating each "YOU" with a raised Tall Man finger pointed at the driver. I probably would have given him the two-hand special, but my other hand was busy honking and driving.

As I said, I really don't condone giving the finger to other drivers, and by the time we were stopped side-by-side at the next light, I remembered why. It wasn't mature, it wasn't the action of a positive, loving person, and I was now deprived of my righteous anger; with my actions I had needlessly abdicated the moral high ground. After all, although I had acted inappropriately, I was still pretty sure the guy was a d-bag.

As we waited for the light to change, he looked over at me and shook his head. I shook mine back at him with a shrug that said, "Yeah, well, what are you gonna do?"

It was a long light, and my remorse grew stronger. I knew that I needed to make amends. I rolled down my passenger window, then honked and hollered to get his attention, but he deliberately ignored me. Why wouldn't he, since he had the upper hand? I was now crazy, rude, shouting minivan lady, and he was merely a cautious driver who wouldn't stoop to my level.

Undeterred, I shouted my apology through his closed window: "In retrospect, I shouldn't have flipped you off, and I AM SORRY!"

To him, shouting a probably undecipherable apology through a glass barrier may not have helped, but I felt a little better. I'd also like to put it in writing, so here is an open apology to the middle aged guy in a gray Porsche Boxter this morning in Ashburn:

Sorry about that. My bad.