Road rage is another thing to add to the list of what to be cautious of while driving. Aggressive drivers aren’t meant to be messed with, but these drivers didn’t get the memo. These drivers recall the moment they had to deal with road rage and they weren’t backing down. Content has been edited for clarity purposes.
“School Bus Angst”
“I drove a school bus for a few years while in college. For most of those years, my last route was high school kids from a transient low-income community. It was my last spring of driving and most had ridden my bus since middle school. They were some tough kids with some tough lives. They trusted me and I loved them all.
There was a difficult intersection near the school that was a fender-bender crash site. To get into the street that accessed the school, I needed to turn a wide left across a four-way-stop intersection to a street that crossed in front of me from an access road on the right, across six lanes of traffic, to a freeway on-ramp just a few yards behind me on my left. People making that left across my bow, while I was making a left, were often less than happy drivers. School bus angst and that day was no different.
I ‘politely’ waited for a few drivers to turn across my nose, though I had a gap, then started my turn. The car approaching the stop sign didn’t even slow down. He ran it when I was completely into the intersection, starting my turn. He made a dangerous turn, way too fast, with his hand out the window and his expressive finger in the air. My passengers expressed their opinion of him shouting in language appropriately matched to his non-verbal role modeling.
Things do work out in interesting ways. A couple of weeks later, on a warm morning, we arrived at the offending intersection. Mr. Can’t-wait-for-the-bus was the second vehicle behind the stop sign. His distinctive red car was spotted and I heard a shout of, ‘There’s the prick that flipped us off.’
I let the first car go and worked it so I turned left in front of him. As I scanned to make sure I was clearing the turn in all directions, I looked in my right-hand mirror. Every window was open and a dozen or more hands were in the air with the same finger extended that the adult in the room had given them permission to use in his presence. I managed to stay focused, not hit anyone, and restrain my laughter, mostly.
I chided them for lowering themselves to the level of an idiot driver, thanked them for their support, and complimented their group solidarity and team spirit. I told them that if anyone complained, I would take the fall and then asked them to please not do it again right next to the school.”
Sixteen Security Guards
“I worked in security and did a lot of events all over the United Kingdom. I worked as part of a relatively large team of large guys, and one day we were in a 16 seater minibus with blacked-out windows driving to an event.
While on the road, a car came up fast behind us, moved out overtakes, and cut back in very close so our driver had to break quite heavily. He wasn’t best pleased but being in the job, we did we deal with idiots on a regular basis so he kept his cool but gave the car a triple toot on the horn and flashed his lights just to let him know we were there and what he did was a prick move. The car driver took umbrage at being reprimanded and started trying to break check us, dropping back, getting right up our back, and then overtaking dangerously again and again.
We’d been on the road for a few hours at this point and a few of us piped up that we could do with a nature break.
The driver said, ‘Ok, no worries! We’ll pull into the next services and hopefully, knobhead would be away by the time we got back on the highway.’
We took the next exit, and the knobhead followed. As we pulled into a space and parked, knobhead pulled up behind us and got out of his car, shouting and screaming at our driver.
He screamed, ‘What’s your problem? Effing prick! I was miles away from you! Why are you effing beeping your horn at me?! And flashing your lights, effing knob!’
We then got out of the minus. Sixteen proverbial brick houses all of a sudden appeared in the parking spot, very upset with the car driver for endangering our lives. His face very quickly turned from bright red to white with a tinge of green as if he was going to be very sick very soon. He jumped back in his car as we surrounded him.
He had nowhere to go so he sat there, shaking and cowering as our driver walked around to his door, knocked on his window, and told him to wind it down. It came down about one-quarter of an inch, our driver went on to explain to the guy that what he did was very dangerous, not only for us but for him because if he’d done the same trick with a different minibus full of (for example) football fans or even not as good-natured security personnel or even just a driver having a bad day, he could have quite easily been rammed off the road or dragged out of his car and thrown through his own windscreen. He then suggested that the car driver got on his way and stop being so needlessly aggressive.
We never laid hands on his car or actually threatened him or his passenger, we moved and the car drove off rather quickly. I presume he learned his lesson.”
“Some years ago, my then-husband and I were on a vacation to Santa Fe, New Mexico. We were visiting friends and stayed rather late. They lived up in the mountains on a narrow, winding two-way-traffic road.
As we pulled out onto the road to head back to our hotel, not expecting any traffic out there at that time of night, a bright pair of headlights came up right behind us. The road was pretty treacherous, with mountain rocks on the downside, and a steep dropoff on the upside. It really required careful negotiation to be safe. Like, not exceeding the 40 miles per hour speed limit.
Well, the car behind us came right up on our bumper and stayed there, with brights on. I was driving, and not easily intimidated on the road. So I tried to shake them by driving just a little bit faster. Nope. They stayed right there, dangerously close to our rear. I could see in the rearview mirror that they were a carload of teenage boys. They thought they were about to have fun with us, tourists.
Finally, I slowed down almost to a stop. They slowed down behind us. They weren’t budging, at first. Finally, they got tired, I guess, of trying to wait us out, out there on that dark country road. So they finally went around us and on down the way. I felt relieved. So after a few moments, I proceeded back on the road at a normal, safe speed.
Well, there they were again, waiting up ahead to ambush us and pull back in behind us to resume the same obnoxious behavior. My husband was getting anxious at this point. He could see I was getting my ire up. We did not know if these young thugs had weapons or not. Serious gamble, if they did.
So I’d finally about had enough. I tried to outrun them by driving insanely fast around those mountain curves. They stayed put behind me, constantly flashing their brights at us.
I slowed way down again, to a stop in the middle of the road. They paused for a moment, then decided to pull up alongside us, evidently to intimidate us. They leered and jeered, and made threatening gestures.
But I was ready. As soon as they hit the gas to pull ahead of us, I hit the gas, too, at the same time. That shocked ’em. Because they were on the wrong side of the road. They were now headed downhill in the uphill lane. And I kept exact pace with ’em so they couldn’t get over. If they tried to slow down to get behind us, I slowed down to an exact match. Heh. They were dangerously trapped over there on that side of the road.
They tried accelerating really fast but I was ready and still kept pace with ’em, the two cars careening around this narrow, winding mountain road at top speeds. They were getting exceedingly freaked out now.
When they were looking over at me with the panic on their faces, I grimaced back maniacally, as if to say, ‘You have no idea who you’ve just picked a fight with! I’m crazy as heck!’
They became terrified, and still, I would not relent and let them pass or drop behind.
Finally, I decided they’d learned their lesson, at least with me, so I pulled off the road and let them speed away ahead of us. Yes, I know it was incredibly dangerous, to us in my car, and to anyone coming up the mountain unaware of the head-on traffic on their side of the road. Thankfully, there were no other up-coming cars. And we got past that unscathed, except for a very freaked out passenger-spouse in my car.
That was the last time I ever took on a challenge by some road-rage maniac. Now I’m very meek and mild when harassed. Easy to just smoothly pull over, or something innocuous. Because I’ve seen too many people in the Bay Area just get blown away by some road-rager getting out of their car to come and blow other drivers away with weapons. Or drive-by shootings.
But it was so gratifying not to kowtow to those teenage punks trying to harass us like that. Perhaps they will also think twice about trying that on anyone else again.”
Oh No! The Rage Of A Soccer Mom
“I had a soccer-mum stereotype lady come screaming out a school driveway onto the main road I was traveling on (two lanes each way, no divider, just painted lines). She came across the gutter lane, and into mine, but was going so fast she wound up crossing the middle line.
Fortunately, cars coming the other way were fairly sparse, and the guy in that approaching lane had time to stop before hitting her (he still had to brake hard). She also stopped on the painted center lane divider, neatly under the middle of her car. I barely managed to stop; I ended up beside her, partly into the lane beside me. That person had, fortunately, hit the brakes and moved close to the gutter, possibly thinking she’d get around the back of the soccer mum.
So we were three cars wide across two and a half lanes. The guy behind me went out a bit in an effort to avoid hitting me up the rear, so he was directly behind her. She was boxed in.
The approaching car started honking at her. She started screaming. She put her passenger window down, turned to me, and started yelling right at me. There was nothing I could do, I was boxed in too.
I was so close to her car that my driver’s mirror was covering the glass of her passenger mirror, another inch forward and they would have hit. So she had to move forward first, to let me out. But the approaching guy wasn’t moving. He was waiting and winding her up into a rage. She started going off at me big time. I never said a word.
I just thought to myself how people are so stupid that they can’t even see they are the only cause of the chaos, and still try to blame others.
Suddenly I had this cartoonish dream of her turning into Miss Piggy from the muppets. I started cracking up laughing. This annoyed her real bad, so I started faking a burst of roaring laughter, slapping the window sill of the door, occasionally pointing at her, and having to catch my breath. The people who were within earshot started laughing too (most likely at me) and this infuriated her.
What I didn’t know, was behind the lady beside me (the one who swerved in against the gutter to avoid it) was my boss. Eventually, the approaching car retreated, and after a teacher from the school gave the soccer-mum orders to drive off, we all moved away.
Later that morning I got called into the boss’s office. I was puzzled. I hadn’t done anything wrong, but the only time people on my level were summoned by him was if they’d stuffed up badly, or were being made redundant. I was shocked when he told me he saw the road rage. Fearing what was next, I didn’t say much. To my relief, he complimented me on not entering into the argument. He then sent an email around to all company car drivers saying to do what I did; laugh it off instead of entering into a road rage argument.
He never realized how close I was to abusing her, nor that my laughter wasn’t as innocent as he thought. It was rather malicious, and boy did it wind her up. But some people are just so stupid you can’t argue with them. Laughter gets the message across, regardless of education level or language.”
“One time, some young punk was flying down the highway and tossing Mcdonald’s trash out of their windows as they went.
Since it’s a regular thing to see spots of traffic on the way to the tunnels before Pittsburgh on Interstate 79, there tends to be a great chance to come across the prick again during rush hours, a few times over.
I was in the middle of renovating a building in Allentown, Pennsylvania, at the exit just before you hit the tunnels of Mount Washington and the Fort Pitt Bridge. So, as I was headed to work, we found ourselves sitting in traffic in Bridgeville, several miles from the city.
Guess who I came across? Ole McLitterbug, who was in a Benz, screaming and honking in the left lane.
I figure I’d do the trash collector in orange a favor, and do a little bit of littering myself, but my trash was gonna be a few quarters.
We got to the end of the traffic, and I ended up in front of him and riding next to a big rig. I nodded my head to the truck driver and he nodded back, as he saw my change in hand through his side-view mirror. The trucker was very familiar with the prick’s horn as well and was also cut off by the same guy earlier.
My grandfather was a trucker, and there is a little sign language that you pick up on as you ride along with them for years. A little hand motion, a flashing of something in hand, some slight headlight actions, or even a simple bit of eye contact, etc. I kinda give him the signal to keep this guy in our rear views and let me get some space to get by. He smiled and slowed down a little, to help tick the guy off with me. This went on for maybe 10 miles, going 45 in a 65 mile per hour area.
It only cost me 50 cents to make sure that dude didn’t litter anymore, as I obviously intentionality threw my change at his car, and cracked his windshield just before I got off the Allentown exit, and the trucker let me slide right on by, before closing up the gap as McPrick was stuck with nothing but the tunnels to go through, which was still traffic for the last couple minutes of the day.
I ended up seeing that trucker again, after work, and he bought me a drink after we randomly met at a truck stop with a nearby bar. He couldn’t contain his laughter as they drove down the tunnels while he watched the guy freaking out and pretty much crying about his windshield in his show-off toy car.
Remember, kids, don’t mess with a trucker in your daddy’s nice, expensive car. Also, quit littering. It’s gonna cost you a lot more than 50 cents to repair the damage I will happily cause with a smile on my face than it is to be a decent person and throw your trash away properly.”
Town People Vs Bad Driver
“Our town has a hairpin turn on a steep section of road right above Main Street. The turn is so tight that even sedans need to swing wide or end up having to do K-turns. There are stop signs before and after the turn and drivers can see who is above or below them. Residents all take turns. Even visitors figure it out on the first try.
It’s not surprising that visitors sometimes don’t look or wait and two cars meet up head to head. Usually, both backup and the cars at the stop signs also back up to accommodate them.
But one guy in a very flashy car decided to zoom up the hill. I was right behind him. He ran the stop sign and started into the turn. There he met a person who was already halfway through. He laid on his horn and cursed and swore. We all backed up to make room, but the guy wouldn’t back up. This only works if both backup. He continued to scream and honk. Shook his fists and made threats. We all watched calmly as he got out of his car with his gold chains and hairy chest visible from an unbuttoned shirt and approached the other driver, an older lady. He insulted and threatened her. By now all of us had our windows rolled down.
Ever the teacher, I saw a teachable moment. I got out to explain how no one could move unless he backed up, at least several feet.
He turned on me and yelled: ‘You’re so ugly. No man will ever look at you!’
I could hardly speak from laughing.
I yelled back, ‘Your grandma has a mustache!’
Everyone honked their horns with glee. No one moved. No matter how busy we were, we could have waited all day. Finally, he crunched into reverse and careened backward, scraping his fender on a wall.
The curve now clear, we resumed our do-si-do as usual.”
“I spent a day with two friends and we stopped off at a pub.
One of my mates was halfway through his pint when he went pale and said, ‘Oh, I’m not really feeling too good. Can we just head home?’
So, off we went, driving on narrow and windy roads. Then this shiny new black Range Rover came hurtling up towards my rear at full speed and proceeded to sit on my arse.
Involuntarily, my speed crept up to 60, 65, and eventually 70. The prick in the black range rover was still so close, all I could see in my rearview mirror was the grille.
Anyway, my mate said sheepishly with an edge of panic, ‘I’m gonna blow chunks!’
My mind was racing, as I glanced at my rearview mirror, the Range Rover was still there. I wondered, ‘Is he so close he won’t see me indicating to pull over?’
In expectation of being covered in my mate’s lunch, I yelled whilst taking my foot off the accelerator, ‘Open the window, man! Quickly!’
He did so and I swear it was remarkable.
It was like it left the car, hit the air stream, and was gone. Unfortunately, upon later inspection, it looked like the side of my car had ten liters of chunky lentil soup sprayed over it but I digressed.
It was a few seconds after the ‘lentil soup’ left my friend’s body, and thankfully the interior of my car, that I again checked my rearview mirror.
There it was, the tailgating black Range Rover screeching to an emergency stop with its windscreen washers and wipers going full pelt. They were hit with his vomit.”
I Guess He Had A Sweet Spot For Animals
“I was driving home one morning after dropping my daughter off at school. Traffic was bumper to bumper moving at a crawl. When I finally got to the front of the line, I spied what all the fuss was about. A rather large snapping turtle, about the size of a serving platter, sitting on the double line refusing to move.
I have a soft spot for turtles and felt bad that it was stuck betwixt and between in the center of a busy roadway. I stopped my car in the middle of the road and cautiously approached it from behind and lifted it by the backside of its shell. It wasn’t happy in the least and swiveled its head around snapping and hissing ferociously. Meanwhile, the man stuck behind my car, laid on the horn and rolled down his window, and started yelling obscenities at me.
My body was shielding the turtle so he couldn’t see what all the fuss was about and he continued his diatribe at me. Smiling I turned around and thrust the giant thrashing hissing and snapping turtle at his head and asked him if he’d like to assist me in moving said turtle to the side of the road. His once purpled face filled with rage drained to a frightened paled white. He squeaked out his apologies as he hurriedly rolled up his window. I continued on my mission and deposited the turtle well away from the road and then hopped in my car content with doing my good deed for the day.”
How Did He Hurt Himself?
“I was driving with my three-year-old daughter in the truck. I guess I cut off this guy pretty bad. There was a red light up ahead so when I stopped, I was the first car at the intersection and the guy I cut off got out of his car which was to the left of mine, came to my window, and started cussing me out.
I told him to calm down, go back to the car, and shut the heck up. I was driving a single cab 2007 GMC Sierra with a stick shift. After making that comment, he got so upset that he went to throw a punch through the window at me so I slightly let out the clutch and pulled the truck forward about six inches so when he swung, he actually hit the backside of the door. And to make things somewhat bittersweet, there’s a pretty high possibility he broke his hand trying to take that swing. Right after that, the light turned green so I continued on my way home.”
His Father Was A Cop
“When a teen, I was the son of the local Police Chief. Dad and I were going somewhere on a Saturday afternoon in our personal car. We were talking and dad accidentally merged and cut off another driver. It wasn’t done with malice or even intentionally. He simply forgot to look. We’ve all done it more than once.
So anyway, we arrived at the next stoplight and the driver got out of his car and stormed toward my dad’s window.
When he arrived, he was greeted by my dad, holding his Chief badge in his left hand, and a nine-millimeter Smith and Wesson in his right.
The driver raised his hands in the air and went back to his car.