by Bruce Corson

Created on: January 18, 2009

Cross Signals

There I was in my suit, late for my flight to my job interview, and the big, bearded construction worker in the pickup truck In front of me was mad. I gather I had unknowingly cut him off somewhere along the way. Now there he was, eloquently expressing his feelings about my offense in his rearview mirror. He decided not to breeze through the yellow light he hadn't noticed and stopped past the stop line. I coasted to a stop right at the line, with another car right on my rear bumper.

Mr. Lifts-Angle-Iron-For-A-Living wanted me to back up. I couldn't. I think the man must have been deaf, because he sent a lot of sign language my way. I don't read sign language, but the general impression I had was that he wanted me, along with the car behind me, to back up. Or maybe the horse I came in on. I'm not sure, but I think he did imply something about my ancestors, too.

I responded with an exasperated "What do you want me to do?" hands-up gesture.

When he continued foaming on, my testosterone and then-relative-youth got the better of me and I unfortunately gave him an expressive hand signal of my own.

Oops. Big, big oops.

Out of his pickup he came. Six feet two maybe, but he looked eight feet tall. Beard, jeans and boots with steam coming out of his ears. Here comes Bluto, and I'm all out of spinach. I'm in my best suit and late for a plane. I locked my doors. That'll show him.

"Get out here!" he screamed. I just looked at him. He punched my window. It didn't break, and it looked as if his fist hurt, which didn't improve his mood. He backed up to kick at the door of my old but shiny Toyota.

I should pause here to tell you this happened 20 years ago. It was one of those life-affecting incidents that helped me grow up, at least in regard to driving. All that metal, glass and anonymity often bring out some surprising behavior in people.

Imagine what it would be like if we walked on crowded sidewalks the way many often drive? You'd hear, "Hey, whatcha tryin' to go aroun' me for, Granma?" as a white-haired lady stepped in front of somebody to enter a drugstore. Window-shoppers would hear, "Hey, get outta da way! Whatcha t'ink dis is?!" on sidewalks with lots of passers-by.

Picture the absurdity of using obscene hand gestures to people next to you on the sidewalk. It would be like one constant game of ice hockey with no gear. Good for orthodontists' business, I guess.

You'll recall we left the story with Bluto about to kick in my door. Maybe he wouldn't get in, but my car

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