Road-rage rules: How to survive Houston highways
By John David Powell (05/18/06)
Houston motorists can take pride in the results of a study released this week that ranked the U.S. cities according to road rage and rude driving. Long pilloried as evil and mean, Houston drivers, it seems, take a backseat when it comes to highway aggression.
Miami’s drivers take the pole position in the survey conducted by AutoVantage (www.autovantage.com), a members-only club that provides travel services and roadside assistance. Phoenix, New York, Los Angeles, and Boston finish out the top five.
Houston came in ninth, after Washington/Baltimore, Detroit, and San Diego. Philadelphia, the City of Brotherly Love, rounded out the top ten.
The nation’s most polite drivers were in Minneapolis, Nashville, St. Louis, Seattle, and Atlanta, according to the survey. These folks were more likely to stay in their lanes, to use turn signals when changing lanes, and to refrain from using colorful language when addressing other drivers who don’t use turn signals when sampling lanes.
Such drivers would not survive a Sunday drive across Houston.
I have survived Houston traffic relatively unscathed, although my older daughter totaled her car when she ran into the back of another vehicle that had slowed during rush hour. Reducing speed during rush hour is a sin in any civilized society.
My only mishap occurred a few years ago when a young lady decided one lane was not enough for her small car. I had just moved into the intersection when my eye caught a bogey at three o’clock. It was a small, beat-up car coming swiftly into my lane, because the other lane was merging into mine.
I could not stop because of the truck behind me. I could not swerve into the only remaining lane because of another truck. I could not speed up because the other car was speeding up. My only recourse was to jam my hand into my steering wheel in hopes the resulting blare from my horn would awaken the young lady driving said vehicle
It did. She increased her speed and clipped my car.
I gave her a friendly wave, a gesture common among the genteel commuters of Houston. And, as I waved, I pointed with another finger to the next parking lot.
“Oh, my God, my God,” she kept saying as she got out of her car. People have that reaction when they see me, and I always assure them that I’m not really God. It’s just a complex I have.
“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” she continued through hands cupped over her mouth. “I was just in a hurry. I needed to get by. Oh, my God.”
It was then I noticed her attire. Skimpy top. Skimpier shorts. Not so skimpy flesh stuff into said skimpy and stretched clothing, which all contributed to cutting off the blood flow to her brain, which, in turn, led her to swipe my car with all the Ă©lan of a blind motorist driving a tank.
That accident and this week’s survey results remind me of that email floating around awhile back, the one about daycare kids and possession of personal property. Houston drivers share some similarities with preschoolers, and understanding the rules of possession goes a long way to reducing the occurrences of rages in the daycare and on the road.
Take these rules to heart and may they serve you well.
If I’m in this lane, it’s mine.
If I like your lane, it’s mine.
If I’m driving a big muther truck, it’s mine.
Even if I’ve left it, it’s mine to return to.
If I think it’s mine, it’s mine.
If you’re in it and I need to be where you are, it’s mine.
It’s always mine, and you must never think it’s yours.
If my tires can touch it, it’s mine.
If I can spit at it, it’s mine.
If my brother remembers driving in it, it’s mine.
If my brother is holding a firearm, they’re all mine.
If my car is going faster than yours, it’s mine.
If your lane is moving faster than mine, its mine.
I will sample all six lanes while traveling 30 miles per hour over the speed limit just to prove they’re all mine.
John David Powell
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