Chicago Road Rage

A Story by goldenblack

the assignment was a "rage essay" and i therefore decided to write about the people who drive in downtown chicago. the piece ended up being really funny i thought. Enjoy!

I am not a very angry person. There are few things in this world that truly irritate me. However, my irratation towards one thing in particular is great enough that it makes up for it. Nothing quite gets me as pissed off as the drivers in downtown Chicago. Now, don't get me wrong, I love driving. Especially in the early morning; I love to drive downtown along the lakefront, listening to music and just letting my mind wander. I have often found that this is one of the only pastimes that really calms me down and lets me relax. However, there always seems to be someone else out on the road just trying to ruin one of the greatest joys life holds for me.
You see, there are many types of downtown Chicago drivers. First, we have the "Little Old Grandma Who Can Barely See Over the Steering Wheel" driver. These are a type of old ladies who drive at the speed of syrup that has sat out too long on the kitchen table, and now congealed is making its slow, tantalizing way out of the bottle. Somehow, you will always get stuck behind these old farts, no matter how many times you change lanes or take a detour. It's almost as though they know where you'll be and craftily make sure they get ahead of you, smiling toothless grins as their curled wigs bobble precariously on the tops of their heads. And the worst part is, once you've finally circumferenced this traffic jam moving at the pace of diseased livestock, it's not like you can drive up and flick them off since, well, they are so blind they probably wouldn't be able to see far enough into your car next to them to notice your middle finger anyway.
Then, you'll probably encounter the "I'm Late to Work so Get the Hell Out of My Way Before I Kill You" driver. You can identify these drives instantly because they'll usually be wearing suits and clutching briefcases to their bosoms like life buoys. These drivers will drive at the speed of light so close to your bumper, you may not be able to see their standard company car in your rear-view mirror. Which is saying something, since they'll probably be driving a hummer. But its probably better that you can't see them, since by 9:05 AM they will have resorted to using flamboyant and obscene hand gestures to alert everyone else in the universe that they are late, and (naturally) it is YOUR fault. And to top it all off, these work crazed menaces will expect YOU to get out of THEIR way. They will creep along behind you, honking their horns and clutching their steering wheels so hard you can count the blood vessels that will undoubtedly erupt in their caffeine enhanced eyeball, making it utterly impossible to enjoy your leisurely drive in the city.
When a gap appears in the traffic, you'll expect the car now jammed entirely up your a*s to kindly retract itself and move ahead of you. However, you'll then notice with dismay that the Godzilla dressed in a suit (an ill-fitting one at that) behind you is NOT paying attention anymore but instead has now proceeded to attempt to write a twenty page report, look up the latest statistic on his iphone, and at the same time gulp down the scalding hot coffee that he is balancing on the steering wheel with his obnoxiously large elbow. (Who needs elbows that big anyway??) You'll quickly move to the right in hopes that he will take a hint and pass you. But, of course, he assumes you have found a faster and easier route and follows you into the right lane, horns blazing to announce his arrival. He has now proceeded to attempt to shave the stubble that has somehow grown on his chin in the last five minutes or so and all you really want to do is slam on your brakes so hard that he crashes into your bumper and succumbs to the peril that he deserves. However, this would probably put you in danger of many a lawsuit and, more importantly, ruin the rest of your morning drive in the city.
So after the "I'm Late to Work So Get the Hell Out of My Way You Hopeless Little Crap" business man abruptly turns around in the middle of an intersection, a whole new slew of cusses and car horns accompanying him, you'll know he has figured out what you've known all along: it is a Sunday, and he doesn't, in fact, work on Sundays at all. You then might be lucky enough to meet the "I'm going to be the next Angelina Jolie" mom who has managed to turn the minivan that she barely knows how to drive into a vehicle housing a number of children that rivals the entire population of Yemin. You'll spot her like a beacon of ill tidings as she swerves through traffic, trying to drive in the five inch platform heels she just HAD to wear today. (Come on, nothing else went with her outfit!) Your palms start to sweat and chills begin to rip up your spine as the navy blue van lumbers towards your minuscule (but environmentally friendly!) car. You'll begin to question whether saving money on gas really is all that worth it; wouldn't you rather be in one of those hummers right now? The death machine creeps closer and closer. You would floor the gas pedal to get out of Jolie Mom's way, but that damned Grandma is in front of you again, obviously waiting for grass to grow on the pavement in front of her. Maybe she's fallen asleep, or maybe (hopefully) she has finally died. Either way, you have no hope of escaping the mortal peril in which you now find yourself. And all you wanted was a nice drive along the lakefront in the city.
At this point, your blood pressure has forever been raised above average and you know that the twitch that has emerged in your left eye will never fully go away. You'll take a few deep breaths as you realize that you have now punctured holes in the steering wheel with your fingernails. Fantastic.
And then, you'll see it. It may appear too good to be true. The veins in your neck will slowly begin to recede back to those of a normal human being, and the twitch will seem less noticeable. You'll shake your head a few times to make sure that its not a mirage. Can it really be possible?? A parking spot in Chicago???