I decided to work on the Friday before Memorial Day but I was still out of sorts with my decision when I hopped on I-5 headed south for the 40 minute commute. The road was packed with vacationers, big rigs, boats and trailers and quads in trailers all behaving themselves in the slow lane, making an early getaway.
A minute or so into the commute I noticed a big rig driver in the fast lane. Hmmm, that's strange, I thought: I like truckers and they are usually awesome and courteous drivers to share the road.
This guy hung out in the fast lane like he owned the whole darn road. For over 10 miles as commuter cars stacked up behind him, he lumbered along. He was nose to nose with the truck on the right - were they friends? playing a game? - for miles. I was convinced he'd move over when he eventually passed, but he didn't. There was a truck a ways in front followed by a pick up pulling a boat, but there wasn't room for me to pull to the right and pass the truck before having to slow to 45 or so.
I was first behind the truck and everyone knows rules for the front car to try and dislodge the clog if possible. I moved a little towards the center to catch his eye, flashed my lights, smiled and gestured for him to move over. Hello?
So much for my A-Game ... so I got close, moved a little to the left so I could see him and laid on the horn a little. HELLO?
A company name. No. None of those 'To report my driving, please call ... numbers'. Not even a license plate. Hey...
By now the cars were 50 deep trailing tight like bumper cars on a rail. They wanted me to do something.
The Causeway was coming up, and the Veteran's Bridge, and I knew the truck had to slow to make it up and over, so I prayed he'd find someplace to squeeze over. And that is when I got a clear shot of the miles and miles of clear open road the trucker was hogging by being in the fast lane.
On the downslope, a guy in a Camaro had had enough. From midpoint in the pack he roared into the slow lane, swerved in and out inches from other cars and flew past me to create an opening in an almost-too-small-for-a-car space between the trucks. Truck right and truck left braked ... and for the first time I saw the driver glance in the mirror.
Several cars charged into the slow lane and raced forward to follow the Camaro, not realizing until it was too late the gap had closed and they were trapped in the slow lane watching us sadly trail by.
When we finally neared the 99 interchange where the road opens to 3 lanes, he turned on his blinker and began to move over. But that was too late for me: I floored it with the windows down and fist raised in the air, and something else too, yelling some very unladylike things as I sped past.
I glanced in the mirror to see the commuter colony jettison past him with similar gestures and comments. Road rage. So that's what it's like.
