I used to drive somewhat faster on the highway than I do now. I have been influenced to change by several factors: when we had children, I became concerned about safety; then I learned that most gasoline engines operate at peak efficiency at about 80 km/hr: therefore by slowing down I was saving money and reducing carbon emissions; and I worked for several years as an emergency room chaplain, where I met individuals who drove too quickly – or rather, I met their families, and helped with the viewing of the bodies.
And I got older, and paradoxically came to the conclusion that life is too short to drive fast. But there is a limit to my speed limits.
Where I live, the speed limit is 80. I have hearsay evidence that a local police officer recommended driving at 90 to avoid rear end collisions. I’m a rule follower but only to a point. So I usually drive around 90 km/hr on the local highway.
Coming up the highway today there was a car ahead of me, following closely on a truck and trailer ahead of him (“he” is a generic pronoun – I have no idea who the drivers were).
They slowed down. The car put on his brakes.
The weather was good, the highway was straight, there was a dashed line, and there was no oncoming traffic. It was legal to pass.
I signalled, pulled out, and checked to make sure that neither of the two vehicles ahead was signalling or turning left: they weren’t. The truck was turning right and the car was continuing to slow down behind him.
I passed them both.
All hell broke loose.
The guy in the car leaned on his horn. I checked my path. There was no danger. There was perhaps outrage that I would dare not stay in my lane. After the truck turned, the car came tight on my bumper, and hung there. For several kilometres. Until we passed the police station. Then he pulled back. After the police station he pulled up again.
It was interesting that he did not seem to think that the police would share his sense of injustice.
I was concerned that he was going to follow me until I stopped. I decided that I didn’t want to have a chat with him. I turned off at a random intersection, let him pass, and continued on my way.
We live in a curious time. A few years ago there was concern that we, as a species, were becoming too independent. We’re mammals, after all. And there is safety in the herd. But nobody seemed to care for anyone else’s safety.
I don’t think that this guy in the car was concerned for my safety. That hasn’t changed.
What was he concerned about?
I think that he was upset that I wasn’t following his rules.
On the anniversary of Hamas’s attack on Israel, I think that the same sort of thing is happening over there. We’re getting upset when people think, feel, or behave differently. For that matter, we do it here to our First Nations sisters and brothers. And to immigrants (no, they’re not eating the dogs).
We’ve gone from independence (which in itself isn’t good for mammals) to something resembling kingship – with each of us as kings, demanding that everyone else do what we do.
Otherwise, we are not amused and we will lean on our horns.
One recalls Fritz Perls: “I do my thing and you do your thing. I am not in this world to live up to your expectations, and you are not in this world to live up to mine. You are you, and I am I, and if by chance we find each other, it’s beautiful.”
I should put that on my bumper.