HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Citizen, 2012-02-23, Page 5THE CITIZEN, THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 23, 2012. PAGE 5.
It was a sweltering mid-summer day and I
was stopped at a traffic light. The AC was
on the fritz so I had all the car windows
open.
Otherwise, I probably wouldn’t have heard
the cursing.
It came from the car behind me and I could
see the driver’s face in my mirror. It was deep
magenta, his eyes were bulging, the veins in
his neck standing out like sail shrouds. He was
leaning toward his front passenger window,
directing a Niagara of expletives at the people
in the car alongside him. In that car sat a frail
and elderly couple, frozen in fear, staring
straight ahead.
I don’t know the nature of the old folks’
driving infraction, real or imagined, but the
berserker’s reaction was absurdly over the top.
What made it extra ugly was the little boy
sitting beside the driver – his son, presumably
– also staring straight ahead.
Nice lesson in civil discourse, Dad.
Road rage. What a weird phenomenon.
Where did it come from? Was there such a
thing as horse-and-buggy rage? Roman chariot
rage?
Probably. Where there’s testosterone, there’s
a way. The term, however, is only a few
decades old, originating back in the 1980s as a
description for a rash of car-to-car shootings
that occurred on the freeways around Los
Angeles. Road rage doesn’t always to involve
firearms. It can manifest as verbal abuse, rude
and menacing gestures or simple aggressive
driving.
Had a case of it myself, once, many years
ago. A younger, stupider version of yours truly
was tooling down Highway 401 around
Toronto. I blew by a middle-aged dawdler in a
station wagon, not thinking much about it. A
few seconds later, I looked over and there he
was beside me, hunched over his steering
wheel, driving fender to fender, determined to
pass.
Was I sensible? Did I hit the brakes and let
him have his way, tut-tutting him with a mild
finger wave?
I mentioned ‘younger and stupider’, right? I
floored it; he floored it; I floored it some more.
We both hurtled down the highway at probably
twice the speed limit, both of us white-
knuckling the wheel, determined that we’d
show that jerk.
Nothing calamitous happened. There were
no rollovers, no caroming off the guardrails or
wailing cop sirens. My exit eventually came
up and I took it. As my car and my heart
slowed down in tandem I remember thinking:
what the hell was that about?
I still wonder.
Why did the doofus in the station wagon feel
he suddenly needed to risk his life to pass me?
Why did I feel I had to risk my life to prevent
him? That’s the scary thing about road
rage: it makes no sense at all. Some drivers
describe ‘a red mist’ swirling before their eyes
and an overpowering urge to ‘get even’ at any
cost.
The typical road rager? Male. Single.
Spotty education. Mid-level income.
And of course, young. Usually under 35.
Usually, but not always. Clyde White of
Corbin, Kentucky recently ran afoul of the law.
The cops finally collared him, but not until the
conclusion of a chase that reached speeds
of over 100 miles per hour. And not before
White had rammed two other cars with his
own. One of the rammed cars was driven by
his brother, aged 82; the other by his sister,
aged 83.
Clyde himself is 78. Proving that when it
comes to road rage, it doesn’t matter if you’re
young or old.
Just as long as you’re stupid.
Arthur
Black
Other Views Road Rage: a handy guide
This is probably one of the hardest
columns I have ever had to write. I’ve
been personal with readers in the past,
but never this personal and never this honest.
However, I think it’s time that I admit... that
I watch The Bachelor.
This is embarrassing, I know.
Little did everyone out there know that while
your conversations with me have been
relegated to sports or local goings-on, that this
whole time we could have been talking about
Jake or Alli or Brad and Emily’s disastrous
attempt at an engagement or of course this
season’s lucky guy: Ben.
It all started as innocently as most reality
show habits start. I was watching an episode of
the show several years ago with Jess and my
mom and sister. They had been watching and
knew everyone on the show, and because we
were in their house, we watched what they
wanted to watch. So you watch and then you
have your favourites and the only way to see if
your favourites get through to the next stage or
not is to tune in next week; and a fan of the
show is born.
I had already admitted this to my two closest
friends Chris and Scott, but I backed into my
admission. It was a complete accident.
We were playing a baseball game on
Playstation and I was talking about former
New York Yankee pitcher Carl Pavano. I chose
him to start on the hill for me that game
because of his illustrious history with high
profile females in the Manhattan area. The
guys asked me who I was talking about and I
couldn’t remember, only to look it up and
realize that I was unknowingly referring to
Pavano’s ex-girlfriend... Gia from The
Bachelor.
An intervention took place right then and
there, but without all the fluffy and soft
language usually reserved for use by
concerned friends and family. In so many
choice words, they told me that I shouldn’t be
watching the show and that they were ashamed
of me. Rightfully so.
However, as boring as some of the recent
seasons have become, every Monday night
there Jess and I are, watching the show,
complaining about how silly it is, but still
getting sucked in like we did the very first time
we watched it.
And don’t get me wrong, there are certainly
aspects of the show that still don’t sit well with
me, not the least of which is the fact that it’s
essentially legalized polygamy without the
wedding rings. (Don’t even get me started on
the regular practice of the final three being
welcomed to enjoy an “overnight date” after
being offered a key to the fantasy suite.)
But despite my complaints, I have stuck by
the show over the years.
Soon there will be a Canadian edition of The
Bachelor and there will be 25 or 30 Canadian
women arriving at a mansion (who knows
where in Canada? Maybe Niagara Falls or a
high-rise Toronto condominium) and falling in
love with whoever this guy ends up being as
soon as they see him, like they always seem to.
Aside from being romantically adventurous,
the application process states that those
selected must be physically adventurous as
well, and be willing to take part in things like
skydiving, snow skiing, ice skating,
parasailing, water skiing, rollerblading and
‘the like’ in order to be considered for the
show.
So there it is, my big confession. I don’t
know if it wins me fans or loses them, but it’s
the truth. Like with many shame-worth
addictions, I feel better for having admitted it.
Bachelor party
So, early last week I had to stop at an
Automatic Teller Machine (ATM) in a
bank and found myself in line behind
someone updating their passbooks and doing
transfers and all that intricate stuff I only trust
a human hand to handle (and yes, I realize the
irony in that).
I sat patiently, boring a hole into the back of
the person’s head with my eyes, willing them
to be quick and understanding that sometimes
the line to have these services done can be
extremely long and that sometimes you really
need to get back to wo...
I literally stopped my thought process mid-
stride because I had seen the person enter the
bank ahead of me.
There was no one in the lobby.
There were several tellers sitting there
waiting for someone to step up to their wicket
so they could assist them.
Now, I’m a big fan of face-to-face
interaction. The only reason I use ATMs is
because I happen to have done all my banking
through a company that doesn’t have a
local presence. That is why I need to use the
ATM.
Every service I can I will go into a business
and talk to someone.
The only time I use a drive-through at a
coffee shop is if it’s either a) so late that it
would likely cause me to mess up someone’s
clean floor or b) I really only need a single cup
of coffee and there is little lineup.
The only time I use an ATM is when
withdrawing money because, as I said, my
bank is a bit of a driving distance from where
I live.
It boggles my mind and fills me with a fury
paralleled by the burning of the sun when
someone takes an object meant to streamline a
process and makes it more convenient for
everyone and then uses it in a very
inconvenient way.
Some will say that everyone has a right to
use an ATM or a drive-through or any kind of
automated system and to them I say, “You’re
missing the point.”
These objects and systems are intended to
expedite certain processes but not replace the
person-to-person interaction that people need
and should seek out.
The ATM, while it does offer the service of
updating ledgers and printing out balances for
the later banker, is about speed.
It’s about walking in and out with minimal
delay.
It’s not about doing your month’s worth of
banking while people are waiting behind you
during normal business hours when the bank is
empty.
The drive-through at a coffee shop, while a
viable way to order food, is really intended to
speed up the one item that constitutes the
majority of the establishment’s sales: hot
beverages.
It’s about known quantities not custom
orders.
Drive-throughs in particular are an issue
that chaff me. As someone with experience
in the fast food industry I know that
when working the drive-through, the way
you are predominantly judged is by
the average time elapsed from when someone
first appears at the speaker to when they
leave the window with what they’ve
ordered.
Ideally that time should be less than 30
seconds: Pull up to speaker, order coffee, pull
up to window, give money, get coffee, get
change and leave.
Now snacks are simple enough and have
little impact on that time, and little impact on
those waiting behind you but anything that
needs to be crafted is a different matter.
A careful line must be walked between
convenience and courtesy.
Convenience is only truly as it’s named
if it doesn’t inconvenience another. When it
comes to that point it is simple rudeness. One
does not simply put their desires or
timetable above anothers’ regardless of station
or need.
I’ve written on this matter before; the
common courtesy of drive-throughs and the
need for everyone to be aware that, in every
mind’s eye, other people’s business comes
second.
That has to be forgotten though.
Convenience is only truly that if everyone
treats it as such and remembers to enjoy the
convenience and then step aside for another to
do the same.
If a lobby is clear and your business requires
more than few minutes, leave the convenience
for those with quick business.
Enter a bank, a restaurant, a photography
shop or lab or store and make use of the fact
that someone is being paid to do more intricate
tasks than the world’s automations are.
Also, while we’re on the subject, allow this
convenience to stretch beyond machines on
streets.
If you have a problem with your cellular
phone or your computer, take it to the shop or
representative you bought it from.
I can tell you from experience (both as a
customer and as a representative) that getting
in touch with anyone at a call centre is a
crapshoot. I usually find that, of every three
representatives I talk to, one of them knows
what they’re talking about. The other two are
either too disingenuous to care or were trained
six months ago and everything has changed
since then.
I find that I’ll usually get better service and
a better answer when I take my problems to a
living, breathing person.
Occasionally it may mean driving to
Goderich or to Stratford, but the time it
takes me to make those trips, and the gas,
usually pales in comparison to the frustration I
face trying to navigate telephone prompts
more perilous than the shoals of Italian
islands.
Remember when you pull up to a drive-
through cafe, or walk up to an ATM or when
you use a drive-through ATM (a wholly
uncomfortable experience every time I’ve
tried) that the people behind you deserve equal
consideration when it comes to this
convenience. Use it as such.
Don’t forget that any convenience loses its
namesake the second we forget that we need to
be courteous to those following behind us.
Trust me on this, people will notice.
Shawn
Loughlin
Shawn’s Sense
Denny
Scott
Denny’s Den
Convenience and courtesy needed