The Eighth Deadly Sin

There’s no way that Christianity’s founders could have predicted what I consider to be the eighth deadly sin: rude driving. A few of the seven deadlies might already cover it—greed, wrath, envy or even pride—but I believe it belongs in its own category. Surely Dante would add a thirteenth circle of hell for rude, aggressive drivers.

You know what I’m talking about. The Me-Firsters who swerve in and out of traffic—only to end up stopping at the same lights as you do. The tailgaters who inspired one of my favorite bumperstickers, “Unless You’re a Hemorrhoid, Get off my Ass.” My favorite is the guy here in Longmont who bought a traffic light changer for $100 on the Internet and screwed up the morning commute for months before the cops finally caught on. Then he had the gall to tell a reporter he did it because he was always running late! Uh, hello, there’s a better solution to that problem! His sin is in a category all its own. Solitary confinement in hell, with frequent visits from Satan himself, would be about right.

I learned to drive in Los Angeles in the late seventies, about the time that a new trend came out of the Land O’ Fruits and Nuts—freeway shootings. My driver’s ed instructor repeatedly said that automobiles can be a deadly weapon. Who knew that bad manners behind the wheel could be just as lethal? Keeping your middle finger to yourself on the road became a matter not just of good breeding, but of survival. I think it’s the reason why driving in L.A., while still potentially a contact sport, is overall a much more courteous experience than anywhere else I’ve lived in the United States. When you need to merge in bumper-to-bumper traffic on your way to Disney Land, you have a good-to-excellent chance of encountering drivers who will slow down and let you in. If you think I’m being too kind to Angelenos, I have just three words for you. Miami. Seattle. Boston. It’s every man for himself in those places.

I’m hardly blameless, though. When I’m having a bad day, I’m more susceptible to the rude driving bug. I compare my progress to the guy in the SUV roaring up in the lane beside me, and I speed up. (Envy) I gloat as I pass the compulsive lane changers on the Diagonal. (Pride) My kids are well aware that “jack ass” is my favorite term for jerks in traffic. (Wrath)

But wasn’t I talking about other rude drivers? Don’t even get me started on people who think they can drive and talk on their cellphones. A fourteenth circle of hell, anyone?

Story ID:	3068
Written by:	Diana Shellenberger (bio, contact, other stories)
Story type:	Musings, Essays and Such
Location:	Longmont Colorado USA
Year:	2007