A few years ago, when we heard an item on news radio about road rage being categorized as a mental illness, my then-teenaged son chortled “they’ll be bringing you home in a straight jacket one of these days, Mom!”
While I admit that I have been known to mutter imprecations and occasionally threats of bodily harm to adjacent motorists, I usually manage to keep them within the confines of my own car, so no chance of actually being arrested or committed.
If I am ever apprehended for road rage, I’m pretty sure it will take place in a Tim Horton drive-through. The ‘victim’ might be the moron who waits for at least three car lengths to open up between his car and the next to make it worth the effort of shifting into Drive. Or it may be the lazy cow who uses the drive-through to pick up snacks and coffee for a cast of thousands back at the office.
The woman who decides to start searching for small change after she has pulled up to the window, despite being kept in line for what seems like hours by the afore-mentioned lollygaggers, is not really worth doing time for. But I can’t say I’ve not been tempted.