Driving in Buffalo for the past three years has molded and twisted me into something I had never hoped to become - a honker.
On my way to work one day, listening to the radio and driving along in a stupor, I noticed a teensy crack in the vinyl of my steering wheel. Perhaps because I have adopted the habit of compulsively pushing on it with all the force I can muster when some jerk driver decides to cut me off.
I've reasoned with myself that a good long honk is therapeutic for my inner being -
small cathartic indulgence.
Whatever the offense may be, I feel the need to tell them, using my horn, that [AHEM!] I am also on the road.
Before moving to Buffalo, I never used my car horn. Living in the middle of nowhere - farm country in central New York - doesn't foster aggressive driving.
I lived on a dirt road off of a small county road that was so narrow it was unworthy of the double-yellow line down its middle. I think the only times I used my horn were to honk at various animals in my way, warning them to scatter or become road kill, or when I was about to pass a tractor "put-putting" down the road.
The only road rage I was ever exposed to was my mother's adorable habit of calling speedy drivers "nerds" from behind the wheel of her minivan. After living in Buffalo I feel as if I could teach her a thing or two about the proper way to communicate road-rage.
Now as I speed along the highway, my generally sweet natured self gets thrown to the backseat by my alter ego and the devilish monster inside me grabs the wheel. I faintly remember a time when I thought driving at 67 miles per hour was risky.
But can you really blame me if I honk at the pickup truck that just squeezed in front of me with nary a warning? Or at the little sports car who budged onto the road before me when I clearly had a green turn arrow?
Of course, there are variations of honking. There's the polite, short honk for when a little old lady almost backs into you in the parking lot. She really didn't mean to, so I'll let her off easy. Then you have the slightly louder and angrier honk for those that try to cut in front of you and take your lane. They know what they are doing, so the honk intensifies.
Lastly, there is the long, hard, VERY obvious honk when someone manages to amaze you with their complete lack of driving skills. This is the most dangerous of all, as the honker could possibly anger the "honkee" to the point of retaliation. Honking is a tricky business.
I find myself honking the most during mid-day rush hour. A driver cradling a cell phone while scarfing down a sandwich needs not bother with silly little things like signaling or yielding to right-of-way traffic.
It's times like these that I feel there must be a sign stuck to my car saying "Here! Cut in front of ME!"
As much as I prefer honking to convey my road rage, the problem is that it only goes in one direction. Honking because someone is tailgating you will only freak out the innocent car in front of you. From my experience, tapping on your brakes to shake a tailgater only makes things worse.
Wouldn't it be nice to have a rear-horn? A polite "toot" from your butt might just do the trick.
In fact, it would be great if I could take the horn out of my steering wheel and carry it around with me. It might come in handy when a shopping cart cuts me off at the grocery store, or someone sneaks into line at the movie theater.
The worst part about my honking addiction is that I actually enjoy it. It's as if I drive around just waiting for someone to try and bug me. I have taken this on as a personal challenge to teach all the bad drivers out there a lesson.
Each day, I make a resolution to be less of a honker. But then again I also made a resolution to quit drinking pop and there is an empty 24 oz. Diet Mountain Dew bottle three inches away from me on the desk - clearly I am not so good at keeping my resolutions.
I am not ready to give up my honking-hand just yet, but maybe someday I will live in a magical far-away place where I won't feel the need to referee the roads.
