Confessions of a senior: Road rage

Copy Editor J. Ann Tipton

-Photos by Paige Wassel

On May 9, I’ll leave Milligan College and east Tennessee with much more than I came with as a wide-eyed freshman four years ago. On my life résumé, I can chalk up a best friendship and many close relationships, new passions and skills, wonderful memories and life-changing experiences--not to mention the small detail of an education. On the other hand, there’s a particular trait that east Tennessee has fostered in me that I'm not so proud of. In fact, I try desperately to hide it from other people: Drivers in this area have made me, nay, forced me into a life of road rage.

You know what I'm talking about, especially if you aren’t native to east Tennessee. At first, I thought the fact that drivers pulled out in front of me or that few motorists used their turn signals was my inexperience on the road. Heck, maybe my Ohio license plates and freshman parking sticker gave local drivers the right to not merge or to routinely stop at yield signs. As I became brave enough to take the risk of getting lost and grew accustomed to Johnson City and Elizabethton, I soon realized that the epidemic of bad driving was everywhere.

Before I knew it, I was muttering through my windshield and pounding my steering wheel every time I ventured out onto Milligan Highway and had to stomp on my breaks when some man/woman in his/her pickup/sedan/station wagon/SUV pulled out 20 feet in front of me.

And then there was the biggest annoyance: courtesy turn signals. A courtesy turn signal happens when a car at the front of a line of vehicles is making a left-hand turn. The cars behind the turning one “courteously” engage their left-hand turn signals so as to alert the motorists at the end of the line why traffic has slowed or stopped. Never seen it happen? It does. I admit, the idea behind this strange practice seems pleasant enough, but really all I’m asking for is that drivers use their own turn signals when they want to turn. Novel idea, eh?

I'm sounding angrier than I mean to be. The road rage is seeping into my writing, I swear.

Every time I go home, I am amazed at the skilled drivers I encounter on the road. I see, in mouth-gaped awe, turn signals and proper merging techniques that are routinely used, and I say a silent prayer of thankfulness. Am I biased and stubborn? Probably.

I’ve tried to not let my road rage compromise my Christianity, and for the most part, I’ve succeeded. I haven’t taken a golf club to any of my fellow road travelers, a-la-Jack Nicholson, and I haven’t developed the habit of yelling at or gesturing toward motorists who tick me off. I have, instead, tried to funnel this wrathful energy into something positive. When another car cuts me off, doesn’t use a turn signal, stops unnecessarily at a yield sign or uses a courtesy turn signal, my road rage still flares for a moment, but then I make an honest attempt to pray for the person who just infringed on my motorist rights. It’s not a magnificent or majestic prayer; it's often just a simple “God, please help that person have a pleasant day.”

Has my quest to stamp out my road rage worked? Sometimes. If one good thing can come out this bad habit that I like to blame on east Tennessee, it’s that I’m slowly learning to proactively combat my impatience. And no class at Milligan could’ve taught me that.

To you, my peers and elders, I owe my most heartfelt thanks for the past four years. It’s been a run ride.