The other day, along the feeder road of I-10 in Houston, Texas, I held my breath as the stocky guy in the big truck opened the back door of his superduty city truck, after a short stop, headlight to tail light, and the obligatory honking.  The taller guy in spiffy and smaller SUV was already out on the pavement, screaming silently beyond closed windows comfortable in my humble minivan. I he demanded the smaller gentleman to engage in solo acrobatic hanky panky, headlights to tail lights again.

A brief moment when could quickly become a lifetime followed by fifteen minutes of posthumus fame on the local TV nightly news headcount.  From my angle, I could not see what came out of or went into the back of the truck, blocked by the gentleman’s body.  Every since the Texas Lotto came to life, I felt if I ever won anything, it’d be something like this, the bystander lottery.

The verbal pugilistics ended as suddenly as they began.  Both men shut themselves into their vehicles, the light changed to green, and they were off, driving normally off into the distance, relieved for the moment, soon sinking into their habitual and familiar melancholy, I’m sure.  

Cornered by human devolution into a rat race, they gnaw and paw at each other; unable to quit their vision of the wild west Shootout on Main Street where he-men exhibit the inner swirls and curls of testosterone riding a roller coaster up and down the convolutions of their minds, the shout and holler.  They are no different that the ancient tribal warriors lost to history who perished to prove their virility.

The cause and effect things is rarely apparent, even to their victims or award winners.  The cause of a road rage altercation may be anything, but usually boils down to time stealing by the driver in front who does something displeasing for the person behind.