Want to be a good Samaritan? Not just any kind of good Samaritan, but that special kind who does good deeds while making it a point to go unnoticed? And by that, I mean completely freaking unnoticed. If the phrase “secret Samaritan” fits your personality profile, then boy, do I have the job for you. Because in the environment I'm about to discuss, your kind efforts are needed.
I'm talking about the highways, where to say that tempers flare would be as redundant as noting that Officer Pike's Pepper™ … uh... sprays. In this flurry of rapidly moving metallic scenery, coupled with the maddeningly intermittent blinking red pairs of tail/brake lights during “rush” hour, cool heads and good deeds are urgently needed.
As described by The Baculum King in this iconic diary, traffic accidents are a thousand times more horrible than they are described on the evening news. Do you want the ideal place to practice harm reduction? Look no further than our roads, where a mass of American citizenry meet wearing a ton or so of steel, rubber, and glass, burdened with varying levels of work anxiety and caffeine-induced stress. These people desperately need you, my silent citizen. Even if they are not yet aware of this fact.
So, getting to the point, what will you do? What will you do?
Buffer that car in front of you.
That's “buffer,” not “bumper.” I am not instructing you to apply your bumper to the rear end of the SUV that just cut you off. Nor do I mean buffer as in “buff.” If traffic is gridlocked bad enough to where you want to be a nice person, and just happen to have a Porter Cable orbital polisher on hand, then that's between you and the other driver. Who am I to argue with such an act of kindness? Though even in the case of such an extremely absurd example, I would still argue that an ongoing policy of giving that car in front of you some space offers greater benefits on both personal and societal levels.
Put a buffer between you and that person. Especially if it's that asshole who just cut you off. Though your judgment may conclude that there is no one on this planet more deserving of retaliatory (and petulant) tailgating than that inconsiderate, coffee-guzzling, lunch-and-stockbroker-texting idiot suffering from Directional Signal Deficiency, the best thing you can do is to ease your right foot off the gas, and take a breath.
Mutter something if you have to, but do not bother to gesture and scream. From the Connecticut Department of Motor Vehicles (italics edited):
Gestures. If you want to wave to another driver, please use all of your fingers. Obscene gestures have gotten people shot, stabbed and beaten.
As for screaming? Well, this is where the silent Samaritan steps into the batter's box, and swings at a different kind of curve ball. A pitch, if you will, that maintains an acceptance of the fact that in the sealed and air-conditioned interior of a modern vehicle, you are Alien's Ripley, in space, where no one can hear you scream. The glazed donut wrapped in wax paper, which sits uneaten on the offending party's passenger seat, will get more attention than your angry pantomine, which appears peripherally in his/her rearview mirror, and is now in Act II after a brief intermission. Forgot about you? That driver who cut you off doesn't know... never even knew you existed.
This is where crisis equals a great opportunity to perform a simple act of kindness that will most likely go unacknowledged, an act so simple that even a big oil company can explain it. Or at least they could, back in 1978.
The Shell Answer Man: two seconds of travel space
If this diary were a rock 'n roll, blues, or country tune of the cautionary variety, then this is the third verse, the first person section, where I strum the same chord progression transposed up one full step, singing “believe me kid, when I tell you / I was once in your shoes.” I could tell you about the many times I've fantasized while driving about owning hood-mounted weaponry, or devising a rear-mounted LED that would display to tailgaters: “Go ahead and drive up my ass... I need a colonoscopy, along with the money.” Instead of doing this, I end this piece with my experience as an urban bicyclist, because there is one thing less noticeable than your... ahem, my screaming at a person whose car is fading fast in the forward horizon, and that is my (and your) presence as someone who cycles in and around the blind spots of motorized vehicles.
It was a constant source of frustration and anger for me to always have to watch out for what the other person is doing, whether it was an SUV swerving in front of me, or a couple of pedestrians sharing conversation over martinis while standing in the Bike Lane™. What is wrong with these people? Why are they so unaware?? Do I need to go all Norma Rae, and initiate a righteous and angry crusade of bicycle awareness??? (hint: yeah, that'll work)
My indignation towards bipedally blind motor vehicle operators did nothing to improve anyone's awareness, but it did serve to suck my attention into thoughts of retaliation and vengeance, and away from being in the present, a bicyclist who rides with attention to the scenery, my mind preoccupied with safety, and nothing else. So I tried a different game. While jetting through the city on my bike, I pictured myself as a lone member of a Botswanan tribe, or even a field mouse, obscured and invisible to the occasional herd of stampeding rhinoceros. It took me no great leap of imagination to view motorized traffic as larger African mammals lumbering anywhere at will, oblivious of all but food (and sex, of course).
There is no threatening a rhinoceros, much less arguing, or a negotiation of spacial boundaries. However, there is harm reduction, which means acknowledging that as much of an idiot that other guy is, my own vehicle has the ability to inflict just as much damage, when not driven with care.
There is healing, as well. I am no longer a motorist who bases his traveling schedule on a time frame where the universe must meet my demands, and every other driver must stay out of my way. I am a team player on the highway, more generous with the space between my car and the one in front, more relaxed and content, causing less stress for careless drivers and innocent bystanders alike.
All this is less a case of personal instantaneous altruism, and more one of simply steering towards a better, more rewarding state of being. Not to mention safer. It's been over twenty years since my fifth, last, and hopefully final totaled car situation. Head, say goodbye to brick wall.
Also posted at B.S. Mechanic