Road rage

An oldish man with a stick has one foot on the asphalt. He's crossing the road at the traffic lights. The green man (?) flashes. Pedestrians' turn to use the tarmack. Twenty seconds of non-vehicular bliss. Mine all mine, he thinks.

However, Boy-racer's approaching in his flash new car. Windows down. Music blares. Boy-racer manages to get through the lights at amber (amber for him, red for the man). He misses the man by a yard or so. Fuck ‘im.

The man’s slow-motion face looks up at the driver. Forehead starts to crumple. Face colour runs through the spectrum. Mouth opens wide. Confusion turns to ire.

"Me cago en tu puta madre. Cabrón de mierda!" (I shit on your fucking whore of a mother, you fucking bastard!" shouts the would-be road crosser, his face now purple with indignant rage.

Expletives shock no one here. There was never a María Casablanca to monopolise and safeguard public morality and outlaw swearing at prime road-crossing slots; El Generalísimo saw to that. Bystanders shake their heads in recognition of the man’s rightful venting of his fury. After all, the driver was in the wrong.

But,

regardless of road safety and what the highway code states that drivers should and should not do, people here who regularly cross roads know that drivers often go through the lights at red. It’s not the little green pictogram on the traffic lights that determines whether it's safe to venture to the other side, but the presence or absence of oncoming traffic.

Rules exist both formerly and in the road-crosser’s (or any other activity doer's) mind. He is aware that people break them yet, despite his powerlessness to prevent them from doing so, he can’t accept the fact. Every time they're broken (every time it affects him), he rants and raves and his bollocks work overtime as testosterone levels surge "Me cago en tu puta madre. Cabrón de mierda!".

Although venting anger on (perceived) wrongdoers (rather than other people or objects) may be a healthy thing to do, the expression of rage (when nothing can be done about it) could, on the other hand, be a manifestation of disempowerment; a stage in the dynamics of impotence. People should follow the rules (those that suit me). People do not follow the rules (those that suit me). That's reality. I'm unhappy.

Boy-racer, meanwhile, pulls up behind another car at another set of traffic lights. The lights are turning from green to amber. The driver in front slows down and stops as an old woman cagily steps out onto the road. Boy-racer can’t believe what he's seeing. "We could both have got through, you stupid bastard!" Breach of Boy-racer’s boy-racing rules.

Overcome by impatience and fury, purple-faced Boy-racer leans out of the car window and hatefully shouts at the driver in front "Me cago en tu putísima madre. Hijo de la gran puta!"