I was southbound on Ashland Avenue, about 5300 north. Some guy in a dark 4-door cut me off and slammed on the brakes for no apparent reason. As I swerved around him I noticed he was looking at me, and yelling in my direction. I never saw the guy before and couldn’t figure out why he had it in for me. Maybe he just hated cab drivers, I don’t know.

I didn’t think much of it, and just went on my merry way. He burned rubber as he took off again and pulled up beside me, going about 30 mph as I was. He cussed me through my rolled-up window, but of course I couldn’t hear him. I tried to ignore him, but he quickly floored it, cut in front of me again, and slammed on his brakes again. I swerved to avoid him (again), and now wondered what the heck was on his mind.

I still didn’t lose my cool, yet. I just looked at him like he was crazy as I passed him again. Now, he was beginning to get on my nerves, and the thought of dragging him out of his vehicle and giving him the ol’ Jack Demsey crossed my mind. But I remained civilized. He didn’t though.

Again, he cut in front of me and slammed on the brakes. This time, his car turned sideways a little, blocking my lane, and I barely stopped before hitting his car. He jumped out of his car and threw a bottle at my door. Then he jumped back into his car to take off, I thought…

before he could get back to his car, I had a few seconds to react. I grabbed a bottle of iced tea I had, stepped out of my car and slung it at his car as hard as I could. As soon as it left my hand, I was getting back into my car. It’s a good thing too.

He reached in his door, grabbed something, and walking very methodically toward me, I saw him throw several bottles before I realized he still had an arm full of them. I ducked and floored my taxi. I turned the wheel to the right because there was a side-street right there. I went careening around the corner and the side of my taxi hit a parked car.

I kept it floored and got the heck out of there. At the end of my shift, I dropped my cab off thinking they will surely see the dent and nail me. But I got lucky and they never noticed it. So, I got away with a hit-and-run, plus the damage to the cab was not discovered so I got away with that. And all because I lost my temper.

I should have simply turned the corner as soon as he tossed the first bottle. But I wasn’t going in that direction.

Road rage is something that affects many drivers and it’s amazing to see that some of the calmest people in everyday life are transformed when they get behind the wheel. Whether you are planning a second hand purchase via Netcars.com, or buying a new car, think carefully about the model you choose to ensure that it doesn’t bring out the worst in you. If you’re susceptible to angry episodes when you’re in charge of your vehicle, here are ten tips on how to stay calm and avoid road rage while driving.

1. Breathe! Sadly it’s inevitable that we’re all going to encounter aggressive or reckless drivers whose actions put us in a state of unease or worse still, they can even be a danger to our safety on the road. As we all know, it’s best not to react but sometimes the urge to display our anger is overwhelming. The first simple step involves breathing – deep breaths in and deep breaths out are a well-known relaxation technique that works at all times, even when you’re behind the wheel.

2. Laugh! This is a common suggestion for anyone who becomes embroiled in a potential road rage situation. Even if you don’t feel like breaking out into smiles, try and force yourself into doing so. It’s odd how the muscle memory tricks you into laughing and seeing the funny side of any situation.

3. Turn on the radio. Divert your attention by listening to your favourite station or have a tape or CD on hand that contains your most relaxing pieces of music for the most stressful situations.

4. Think of the perfect evening. Turn your mind away from any incident and on to the evening you have planned. Maybe you’re having your favourite meal or just a deep relaxing bath. Even if you haven’t made any plans, turn your attention towards a relaxing event and make time for it as a form of reward.

5. Ignore it! Assuming that the driver who has been the subject of your displeasure is really turning their anger towards someone else is a good step to consider. Simply thinking of it as someone else’s issue can help the anger subside.

6. Look at your driving. It certainly is worth considering your own driving at this point to see if there is anything you’ve done to enrage another driver. If you’re honest, you’ll know if you’ve made an error so just keep it in mind. If it’s a common issue with your style of driving, then you must address it.

7. Move over. If you have an aggressive driver tailgating you then maybe the most sensible thing is to let them by. It certainly makes you calmer when the driver is off your back.

8. Drive defensively at all times. Avoid aggressive driving, as it will only take you into situations where road rage can become an issue.

9. Don’t make eye contact. This is arguably the worst move you can make in any situation. If you are the victim of road rage then eye contact will only enrage the other driver but if you are struggling to stay calm yourself, eye contact will only serve to stir those feelings of anger even further.

10. Keep your distance. If you feel yourself becoming impatient, hang back from other users and don’t be tempted to tailgate. Simply maintaining your own space can lead to calmer, safer driving.

I was eighteen years old and driving a taxi. You had to be at least twenty-five to drive for Yellow Cab, but I had a fake license. In those days it was very easy to get a fake license. The Illinois Licenses didn’t have a picture on them in those days! Even at the time I knew that was a dumb idea. All we did was put some white-out on our birth certificate and take a copy. The copy looked good, except for not having the seal. A lot of people did that.

So there I was, eighteen, driving a cab in Chicago, and struggling to make ends meet with a baby already at my age.

I was on my way home after a long days work, and was just about one mile from home. I pulled out of a Clark Gas station at 3100 W. North Avenue. As I pulled out, I cut off a cop car that was rolling westbound. I had just smoked a joint, and I had no taillights on my cab… Oops.

So naturally, the cops pulled me over. I rolled down my window as he walked toward me and I saw the smoke streaming out, as did the officer. (Another oops.)

He approached and asked for my license. I handed it to him and he noticed the smell. One whiff of my cab left no doubt on the cop’s mind. He said, “I’ll bet money if I look in your ashtray I’ll find some roaches.” And I admitted it was true.

I had some money in my shirt pocket, which he noticed, and he prodded his finger in there and said, “Maybe we can work something out. We haven’t had any dinner yet.”

I always heard you can give a Chicago cop twenty bucks and get off the hook for minor traffic offenses, but until this day I hadn’t actually done it yet.

I responded, “I only made forty bucks today, go easy on me.” Truth be told, I probably made a hundred, but I didn’t want to let him know that.

He answered, “We’re not that hungry.” I agreed, and he said, “Just sit in your cab for a couple of minutes, then walk back to the squad car.”

I complied, and got a twenty-dollar bill ready. A few minutes went by and I walked up to the driver’s window. He looked around carefully, then said, “Just put your hands on my door, and casually drop it inside the car.” His window was rolled down all the way, so I rested my two hands on the door and let the twenty slide into his car.

He saw it, handed me my license and said, “Have a good night.”

I thanked him and went on home. It was well worth the twenty bucks, and I thought the cops deserved a little extra money anyway, considering all the risks they take at their job.

That was the true story of my first bribe ever. At the time, I had no idea what the next few years would lead me to. But I wound up being a chaser, and slipping cops fifty-dollars many, many times after that. But there’s something special about your first bribe.

I noticed that the green car had a bumper sticker that said, “Simon Sucks”. Being a huge American Idol fan, I recalled some of Simon’s super-rude comments, but had to laugh because he was always entertaining.

The guy in the green car that did the cutting-in just kept his eyes forward, not engaging the idiot, at first. The horn stopped blaring, and just as the light turned green, the guy pulled into traffic with a one-finger gesture held up at arms-length. Then the guy in the red car laid on the horn some more. I followed the pair for a few blocks, until we stopped at the next traffic light.

Just as we all stopped for the next light, the guy in the red car, who I’ll refer to as “the idiot” from here out, pulled into the parking lane next to the green car. I was close enough to hear every word they said to each other, before the actual fisticuffs began.

The idiot yelled at the top of his lungs, “You drive like sh#t. What happened, did you get kicked off American Idol, fa&@t?” And the guy in the green car answered, “I hate Simon, alright? Why can’t you just let somebody cut in?”

The idiot got out of his car saying, “I suppose a fa&$@t like you likes Steven Tyler better.” And he kicked the guy’s driver-door, really hard!

That caused a chain-reaction that he would later regret. When the guy in the green car got out, I was surprised to see how huge he was. He wasn’t big and strong, just big and wide, with a beer-belly. As he stepped out of his car he said, “Simon says I’m gonna kick your ass punk. And yeah, I like Steven Tyler.”

As he got closer to the idiot, the idiot took a step back and looked in his car, as if for a weapon. With his upper body halfway in the window, the big guy pulled him out and slammed a fist into his face. It was on…

The light turned green as they threw a few hands back and forth, but I stayed to watch the action. It only lasted a few seconds, and it seemed pretty evenly matched for the most part. The smaller man landed more punches, but I’d have to say the big guy hit a lot harder.
After a little bobbing and weaving (and a few bruises), the smaller man finally gave up, “OK, fine, I give.” And he got back into his car.

The bigger guy felt like he won as he got back into his car, and retorted, “Watch your f$#@!ing mouth. Next time I’ll knock it off your face.” And the whipped idiot said nothing until his car was in gear. As he took off, he had to yell, “Steven Tyler is still a Fa&@t.” And he sped away.

Living in Chicago most of my life, and being an ambulance chaser from way back, I had seen my share of street-fights. But this one was the funniest one ever!

There were a few ladies waiting for the bus who heard every word as well. I made eye contact with a few of them and we were all cracking up.

And, about American Idol. I’m a huge fan. I watch it every year, but not every episode. But this year is different, and way better than ever! I think adding Steven Tyler to the mix was the best move they ever made. This season, I haven’t missed an episode, and I DVR them all. Even on the days when there’s no Idol on, I watch the reruns.

There were some classic moments on group week. I could go on all day about American Idol, and since this is a road rage blog, I had better not. But make sure you watch it (you can find them on Youtube), and go to AmericanIdol.com and vote for your favorite!

(Note: That picture is not an actual photo of the incident, just one I thought fit the story.)

After showing tremendous patience, the victim decided to fight back. (Or maybe he just got the opportunity when the idiot stepped far enough away from the door.) He calmly threw one good punch in the face of the big baby. (Yeah, trouble makers are just big babies, crying because they didn’t get their way, like a toddler who falls on the floor kicking and screaming.) And promptly knocked the punk out- not exactly out cold, but flat on the ground for while. Then the cop shows up- he saw the whole thing. It’s great.

I found this video clip at Youtube, but it was so right-on with what we’re doing, I thought I’d just embed it here too. Check it out…

Day one: George Mawson was sitting behind a beat-up desk piled high with a mess of papers, and barely room for his ashtray. “Come on in Ken, welcome to tow truck hustling. I’m gonna show you your new boss.”

In walked Gary Basso. He was a big fat guy with glasses. He stepped behind another cluttered desk, sat down and put his feet on the corner that had enough room. He took a drag off a cigar, looked at it, and asked in a strong Chicago accent, “Do you know how to hustle?”

The eager student, I responded, “Yeah, I’ll work hard.”

He looked me up and down, and said, “All right, let’s go.”

He walked out of the office and I followed. He got into the driver seat of truck one. I jumped in the passenger door, and he turned on the police scanner. “Always have your scanner on, and listen to it closely, so you won’t miss it when there’s an accident.” And he cranked it up a little.

He elaborated on my job description. “While you listen to the scanner, you drive around on the expressway, up and down, all day, looking for a broken-down car. Whenever you find one, you pull over and, help them.” With a little emphasis on the word help, he smiled, raised his eyebrows and rubbed his fingers together, to indicate money.

“Make sure you stay within the boundary’s of the police district you’re listening to. In this case, 16th and 17th districts are on one channel. That goes up and down the Kennedy from about Belmont to Harlem. If you stay in that area, you’ll be close enough to an accident that you can get there quickly, when there is one.”

He took off and didn’t get six blocks when the scanner barked, “1732…” A second passed and an officer answered, “1732, go ahead.

“1732, take the auto accident, 4532 N. Central Park, auto accident with injuries, fire’s on the way.” And 1732 respond. “Ten-four.”

Gary’s mind raced for the best way there, then he quickly turned right on Montrose. “We’re only a mile away. We should get there before the cops.” And raced to the scene.

We did arrive before the cops and heard the ambulance coming as we parked. “Hurry up,” Gary said. He jumped out and walked as fast as he could over to the smashed cars, people still in them. I kept up with him, and we approached the nicest of the two cars. “Always go to the nicest car first. We want the job for the body-work, so we go to the car worth the most money first, the one with the most damage, that would cost the most to fix.”

He looked at both cars quickly, saw one was a young man in a beat up car, who was standing next to his car, apparently not hurt. The other car wasn’t so lucky. He smiled like a concerned citizen at the driver, an old lady with blood on her forehead. “Are you alright ma’am?” He asked. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

She looked at him in a daze. “I don’t know… I can’t feel my legs… And I can’t move.” She looked like she was about to cry, but the old gal had some fortitude.

Gary offered, “Would you like me to call somebody for you? A relative? A doctor? A lawyer? A tow-truck?”

She stumbled for a coherent thought. “I guess, you can call my husband, Bob.” She gave him a name and number and he sent me to the truck. It had a phone in it.

This was 1981, so it was one of the first mobile phones. It had a huge box in the trunk which transmitted the signal to an operator. I jumped in and picked up the receiver. After a ring, an operator answered, “number please.” I gave her the number, and after explaining to the husband, he said he’d be on his way.

The ambulance and the cop showed up almost simultaneously. I ran back to Gary, still trying to console the old gal. “What happened?” He asked her.” She smiled and said, “I must have blown the stop sign, but he was speeding.”

Gary saw the cop walking over, so he acted quickly. “Ma’am, why don’t you let me tow your car for you. We have a tow truck right here, and we won’t charge you anything. We’ll just bill your insurance company. So you won’t have to worry about where your car is.”

She agreed, and Gary was writing down her name and number when the officer approached. I offered a brief to the cop. “This lady needs an ambulance. She can’t feel her legs. The other guy is OK.”

The cop looked at the other car. It was an old beater that looked like it could still drive, and the driver was sitting on the hood. He asked the old lady, “Do you need an ambulance?” She nodded. The cop looked at the approaching paramedic, and pointed at her, to indicate this is where he’s needed.

While the paramedics were tending the old gal, we went back to the truck to wait. The cop walked up to Gary’s window and asked, “Did you guys get the tow?” Gary answered, “Yes, and we’ll take care of you.” The cop nodded, and walked away to do his work.

Gary took out a 50-dollar bill and folded it twice. “Whenever you get a car, make sure you slip the cop 50-bucks. Don’t worry, George will give you your money back in the morning.”

The ambulance left with their customer, and we hooked up the car. When the cop was done with his paperwork, he pulled up next to us, close enough that no one would hear him except Gary and me. “Just walk over and put your two hands on my door, and just let it fall into the car.”

Gary agreed and nonchalantly walked over to the cop car and rested his hands on the door. The windows were rolled down, so Gary let the fifty slip down inside the police car. This was my first involvement in bribing a cop, but a lot more of that would come. They all took the money, expected it, in fact, demanded it. Except maybe for the old one out of ten, who was about to retire.

The next morning, I arrived just as George and Gary were opening up the door. Gary explained, “George, we got a car. An old lady with a brand new car and State Farm insurance.”

George smiled, “Great. Let’s make some calls.”

Then, the real scam began. They showed my exactly how they would trick the insurance company and the old lady into letting us fix the car.

George called the old lady, posing as the insurance company. “Hi Mrs. So-and-so? This is George at State Farm. Are you OK?” After a moment of concern, he added, “We have you car at one of out authorized body shops, so we’re going to go ahead and fix your car right away.”

That made her happy. No doubt, she went back to resting her aching legs.

Then he called State Farm. And with his best impersonation of an old lady, he said, “Hi, this is Mrs. So-and-so. I’ve had an accident. The car is at my body shop, and I want you to let them fix it.” They agreed, and said they’d send an adjuster to write the estimate.

George and Gary shook hands and congratulated each other. George gave Gary his $50 back, plus $175 for getting the job. Gary reminded him of the tow, and George gave him another $25 for the tow.

Gary turned toward me, split the $200 in half and gave me $100. “Here’s your half. Just think when you start getting cars by yourself, the whole $200 will be yours. And there will be days when you get three, four cars.”

He was correct, I’d soon find out. And I spent the next three years or so chasing, raking in the money- I was bringing home $400 to $1600 a week, at a time when most working men made around $150 a week.

Well, back around 1990, I used to have an old Chevy that refused to die. It was a 1979 Impala. I had to check all of my fluids everyday because everything leaked. It had a knock in the engine, bad brakes, it smoked, it overheated, the transmission slipped, the front end clunked every time I turned the wheel, the only door that opened was the right rear door, and when it got hot, it wouldn’t start. Well, I drove it like that for a while, but when I woke up one day and saw my windshield busted, I knew it was time to take it to the junk yard. So I took all of my stuff out of it and drove it in.

On the way there, I had a little trouble. I turned left onto a four lane road and cut off a driver who was speeding. I tried to speed up enough to get out of his way, but he was going too fast and my car was too slow. He blasted his horn at me and then switched lanes to pass me on the right side.

When he got right next to me he began to cuss me out. I tried to ignore him. I slowed down and pulled into the right lane behind him. He moved into the left lane again and when we stopped at the next red light, he was right next to me on my left. \

He rolled down his passenger window to cuss me out some more. He had leather gloves on that had the finger tips cut off. He said, “Who taught you how to drive, faggot? You drive like shit, faggot. I ought to get out of this car and kick your ass, faggot.”

I answered, “I am sorry, this piece of junk isn’t very fast and I did the best I could.”

He retorted, “Get a real car, faggot. If you can’t do thirty miles an hour, you shouldn’t be on the road, faggot.”

Just for the record, I’m not gay. But still, the f-word was beginning to get on my nerves. Once again, I apologized, “I’m sorry, I’m trying to make it to the junk yard now.”

He called me a faggot about ten more times. And every time he said it, I could feel my anger rising. Finally, after being called a faggot about twenty-five times, I responded with anger, “Hey, screw you, you’re the faggot!”

Now he was really mad. “I’ll get out of this car and bust you up, faggot,” he said, pointing a partially gloved finger at me. So I answered, “I wont break a fingernail on you, if you get out of that car, I will smash this piece of junk right into your nice new car.”

On that note, he jumped out and ran around his car to confront me. He had a small, flexible club in his hand, which I immediately thought of as a pimp-slapper. I turned my wheels to the right and tried to go into a doughnut shop that was right next to me. I hit the high curb and had to back up to turn sharper, so that I could make it into the driveway.

As soon as I turned the steering wheel and put it in reverse, he was at my door. He reached in to try to hit me. I ducked and floored it in reverse, right into the side of his car. I broadsided him squarely, smashing his passenger door and front fender, on purpose. I knew I was going to have to hit his car just to be able to get away. I didn’t really hit him for spite, it honestly was the only way out. Which I thought, served him right. Then I put it in drive and proceeded to cut through the doughnut shop parking lot.

He jumped back into his car and chased me. I couldn’t lose him. I drove down one-ways the wrong way, I ran red lights, I cut through a park, but I couldn’t shake him because he had a faster car than I did and I was afraid to go too fast because I had bad brakes. I finally decided to head to the nearest police station- 25th district on Grand and Central.

I parked at the front door and ran inside. “This guy is trying to kill me” I said to the several officers that where there. And then he came in right behind me and said, “This guy” pointing at me “hit my car and took off.”

I told my story truthfully. And his story was that I started a fight with him after I hit his car.

They charged us both with disorderly conduct and put us in separate jail cells that where right next to each other. We couldn’t see each other because there was a solid steel wall between us, but we could easily talk.

In the next cell past him, was another man. So, he said to the stranger, “What do you think about a guy with no heart? He wouldn’t even fight me. I challenged him to a fight and he ran away like a sissy.” But the stranger ignored him. He taunted me a little more than that, pretending to talk to the quiet man next door.

So finally, I said, “Hey stupid, you got your ass kicked and don’t even know it. I told you I wouldn’t break a finger nail on you. And now look at you. Sitting in jail with a smashed car waiting outside. Who won this fight?”

He went crazy then, punching and kicking the steel wall. And I laughed. “I can’t wait until we go on the bus to the county jail, I’m going to kill you” he said. I stopped laughing.

Just then, a police officer walked in and unlocked my door. He said to me, “We talked to some witnesses at the doughnut shop and everybody said the same thing you said. So we are going to let you go. Plus, we found out that this guy is wanted and he has a warrant for his arrest.”

The idiot was still screaming at me as I walked past his cell. And I couldn’t resist one more hearty laugh as I looked at him.

It’s kind of hard to talk when you have your foot in your mouth, but I can still type! I once said “I simply don’t get tickets”. And I really meant it. I figured if I always did everything according to the law, I would never get another ticket. But I was wrong. No matter how hard I tried, I still did something illegal every once in a while. Sometimes a traffic light will turn red faster than expected and I would wind up going through a red light. Or someone parks in the street and I have to cross a solid yellow line to pass them. I like to think that common sense says that you have to bend the rules sometimes. I mean, what would you do if you stopped at a red light and it never turned green? Eventually you would have to go through that red light.

Well anyway, this is what happened- One sunny day, during heavy afternoon traffic, I was waiting to turn left in a left turn only lane, on a four lane divided highway. The two oncoming lanes of traffic were stopped for a long time, blocking the intersection so that I couldn’t go. Every time a few cars would inch forward, the next cars would pull forward and block the intersection so that I still couldn’t go.

I sat there for about four minutes and then I realized that if I was going to get across, I would have to just pull out and make someone stop. It was the only way, so I did. The car that I cut in front of had plenty of room to stop and so he did. But, as I went across the intersection, I could see a lot of activity in that car, so I looked closer. The driver was punching his dashboard and shaking his fist at me with a red face that looked about to explode! He was screaming some obscenities at me, but I couldn’t hear him because my truck was loud. I thought to myself- he actually thinks that I slowed him down, when in reality he had to stop anyway.

So, as I continued, I looked in my mirror and saw him following me! He made a right turn from the left lane! And he was driving to his left, over the yellow line about a foot, where I could see him in my mirror. He was still wagging a finger at me and talking as though I could hear him. And he stayed right on my bumper.

I didn’t know what he was going to try to do. Maybe he just wanted to talk to me, or maybe he was really going to do something crazy. I didn’t know. I wanted to call the police, but my cell phone was out of reach. So I started taking mental notes of some details- He was by himself. An older guy with white hair, driving a green Ford Escort, two door hatchback. I wrote his license plate number down.

Well, I wasn’t too scared of a Ford Escort while I was driving a Kenworth T-600, but at the same time, I didn’t want him to find out where I was really going. So, I pulled into a big parking lot with a few truck drivers standing around. If he was going to try to start some trouble, I wanted some witnesses. I turned my truck around so that I was facing the road. I wanted to be sure I had a way out. I grabbed my cell phone and tried to continue driving forward and out of the parking lot.

Then, he got out of his car and ran in front of my truck with arms flailing, stopping me. What if he would have pulled out a gun right then? I might have run him over, I really thought my life was in danger. He ran up to my door on the drivers side, so I quickly locked it. He stepped up on my gas tank and screamed at me to “get the f&*$ out of that truck right now!” I let the clutch out and started driving. I slammed on my brakes to try to shake him off the side of my truck, which it did. I let the clutch out again and dialed 9-1… Just then, two police cars pulled up very quickly. I was so relieved!

I stepped out of my truck in time to hear him yelling at the officers, “give this S.O.B. a ticket for failure to yield, I’ll sign it”! And the officer replied, “Yes, sir.” This guy was the police officer’s boss! It turns out that he is not only a cop, he is the traffic supervisor!

He then proceeded to lecture me on failing to yield, his loud red face in mine, with spit popping out on every “p” he popped! I tried to tell him that he would have blocked my way if he continued. And that blocking the intersection is the real problem, if you look at the big picture. But, every time I opened my mouth, his mouth made a louder sound than mine. I was not able to get a word in, at all. He signed the ticket in the officer’s book and then he was gone.

His subordinate was a nice enough guy though. I explained to him that his boss was going to block the intersection. And he could plainly see that the intersection was still being blocked and other cars were cutting in front of people so that they could get across, just like I did. The officer agreed with me that the real problem with this intersection is the fact that cars always block it. And he vowed to start enforcing it! I hope he really meant that. His professionalism restored my faith in mankind, despite his boss.

I was soon on my way with a ticket in my hand and a court date on my calender. I went back to the intersection a few days later and took some pictures for court. I wanted to be able to show the judge that the real problem was the cars that block the intersection.

The judge dropped the charges when I explained it to him. (Whew!) And “road rage with a badge” never showed up. I was afraid he would be there and the judge would take his side. But I got lucky.

I can’t imagine how someone like that got to be a traffic supervisor. They should demote him to traffic school student, and promote his subordinate to traffic supervisor. He must have received his promotion based solely on his years of service because he surely didn’t have the knowledge or the self control to be a police officer, or especially a traffic supervisor. Maybe he was just having a bad day. Or maybe he really just hates trucks. I guess I’ll never know unless I meet him again. And I hope I never do.

I wonder if he woke up the next day realizing that he was wrong? I doubt it.

He probably thinks he taught me a lesson. Actually he did. But not the lesson he was thinking. What I did learn from this incident is that just because someone is a traffic supervisor, that doesn’t necessarily mean that he understands traffic.

I first heard of her about ten years ago in West Memphis, Arkansas. I was laying down in my sleeper at the Petro. My CB was turned off and I was being lulled to sleep between two reefer trailers that played a nice harmony. But, despite the noise of the two reefers next door and my truck running too, I could still hear my neighbor talking on his CB.

He had his CB turned up very loud for some reason and he was talking very loud too. He seemed to be having a lot of fun asking where Lucille was, over and over. He was getting a lot of different answers as to where she was and he believed every one. He would get out of his truck and go see if it was really her, every time someone said they saw her.

Ten minutes later, he would get back in his truck, get on the CB and talk about her some more. Sometimes, he would say that he found her. But then immediately after that, he would ask if anyone saw her. I listened to this for an hour or two before I finally fell asleep, at about 11PM.

I woke up at five o’clock like I do every morning and he was still there! Still looking for Lucille too. Once again, someone said they saw her and he got out of his truck to see. I went inside, took a shower and got a cup of coffee. When I got back in my truck, I could still hear him asking if anyone saw Lucille! He was up all night looking for her. I wondered if he would ever give it up. As I pulled out of the truck stop, I turned my CB on and he was still doing it. He said Lucille could keep him awake if only she were here. He said he saw her yesterday in Dallas and he would see her again tomorrow in Knoxville.

At first, I thought he had lost his mind (and maybe he had) and was beating a bad joke into the ground all night, just to aggravate people. Sometimes you’ll hear someone on the CB repeating the same line over and over, trying to be funny and /or trying to aggravate drivers. You’ll laugh the first time or two that you hear it, but after about twenty times, you just have to turn your CB off.

The way I hear it, Lucille is everywhere and nowhere. She can often be in two places at the same time. A lot of people are looking for her but not many ever seem to find her. But, when they do find her, for some reason, they still look for her. She is very mysterious and illusive, this Lucille. Those that do find her, usually have to pay for her in more ways than one. She can kill you, she can get you fired and she can have you thrown in jail. But, they still want her. Who is she? A lot of people seem to know her. But many who do, won’t say anything about her. Everybody knows her and nobody knows her. She’s everywhere and nowhere, if you believe what you hear on the CB.

It took me a while to figure it out, but Lucille is not really a human being at all. It’s a drug. Actually, Lucille is a code name for a drug. I’m not sure what the real name is for this drug, but it is some kind of speed, or maybe cocaine. The drivers who use it are trying to stay awake for long periods of time. It can take all night to find Lucille. They need to find it so that they can stay up all night, looking for it, so that they can stay awake all day driving, so that they can make some money to buy some more, so that they can stay up all night looking for it. It’s a vicious circle and it has to stop.

Even though all trucking companies are required by law to drug test their drivers, there are still a few small companies and brokers that don’t. And drivers who do drugs can sometimes find ways around the drug test. They buy this body cleansing juice and, after they drink it, they can pass a drug test. Others use someone else’s urine they carry in a small bottle. When it is time to give a urine sample, they just pour the bottle into the cup. More and more drug testing facilities are getting wise to these tactics and it is getting harder for the dope addicts to find a way to cheat the system. But, somehow, they still do.

Of course most truckers do not use drugs, nor will they tolerate a drug user. But like every walk of life, there are a few who do. I’d say that a community policing effort is needed here. More drivers need to speak up and tell these idiots to get out of a truck and into a detox center, where they belong. Many drivers just look the other way, even though they know exactly what’s going on. They don’t want to tell on another driver, because that wouldn’t be “cool”. In other words, they give in to peer pressure. To them, I would ask if it was “cool” to put a dope addict behind the wheel of a big rig? Because, when you turn your back, that’s what you do. You let it happen. If you owned a truck and you found out that your driver was staying awake for days at a time and using drugs to do it and doing drug deals inside your truck, risking impoundment, you’d fire him for sure, wouldn’t you?

I’ve even heard people on the CB looking for Mary and Juan (which is obviously marijuana). So, with that in mind, I urge you to keep your eyes and ears peeled for these drug deals. And when you hear one happening, if you can figure out which truck is doing it, get the company name and truck number off the side of the truck and call them. Or, report it to the police. Tell a dope addict off or cuss them out on the CB. Peer pressure can work that way too. Help keep irresponsible people out of trucks (cars too, for that matter). Truck drivers need to have all of their senses working when they drive and there just isn’t any room for people who don’t take it seriously.

It used to be much worse, back in the old days, before drug tests. But I believe there is still room for improvement. Keep the shiny side up and the greasy side down. See you next month. One more shameless plug – check out www.bigcitydriver.com and see all the new stories and articles I recently added. I also put a link you can click on and go to 10-4 Magazine’s website. Thanks for visiting.

And, here they are: It was an argument over a parking space; He cut me off; She wouldn’t let me pass; He hit my car, so I shot him to death; Nobody gives me the finger; He was playing the radio too loud, so I shot him; He kept honking and honking his horn; She was driving too slowly; He wouldn’t turn off his high beams; They kept tailgating me; I would have never shot him if he hadn’t rear-ended me; He practically ran me off the road – what was I supposed to do; We was dissed (often used by teenagers who murdered a passenger in another vehicle). Those are the dumbest “excuses” I have ever heard!
When it comes to weapons of choice, according to this study, the most common weapon used is a firearm (37%), or a car (35%). But just about every conceivable weapon has been used including fists and feet, tire irons and jack handles, baseball bats, knives, bayonets, ice picks and swords, beer and booze bottles, canes, wrenches, hatchets and golf clubs (to name a few). However, it bears mentioning that in other studies I’ve seen, a car is usually the weapon of choice. But this time it came in second.
The report also made mention that most of the people who used a firearm were normal, law-abiding people who carried it (a weapon) just for protection, and would have likely never used it if they didn’t feel provoked somehow. Among those who made the list is actor Jack Nicholson. He thought another driver had cut him off and retaliated by stepping out of his car at a red light, grabbing a golf club, and striking the windshield and roof of the offender’s vehicle.
I know most of you must be thinking there are some crazy people out there. And yes, I’d have to agree. But I also think we are all a little crazy sometimes. And anybody can be pushed over the edge. We all draw a line somewhere in the proverbial sand, that, when someone crosses it, we fight. The problem is, when we drive, we become our vehicle. I think of the old adage, fight or flight. In normal life situations, when confronted in one way or another, we all have the standard “fight or flight” reaction to danger. But, given the power and protection of 3,500 pounds of steel around us, anyone can become a fighter.
The report also had some good advice on how to avoid road rage incidents – “Don’t cut off other drivers” was listed as the number one thing to remember. Being cut off seems to irritate drivers more than anything else. And, speaking from personal experience, I know it is the number one thing that irritates truckers, too. Well, here are some other helpful bits of advice to avoid a road rage incident.
Don’t change lanes without signaling, and if you do, wave a quick “thank you” to the other person. Also, don’t block the passing lane, stay to the right. Don’t tailgate – dozens of deadly road rage incidents started with a tailgater. Don’t tell them they are number one with an obscene gesture – this silly little act has got many people shot, stabbed or beaten. Use your horn sparingly – scores of shootings began with a driver honking. Don’t allow your door to strike a parked car – dings can enrage some people out there. Don’t use your high beams to punish other drivers. Don’t let your mobile phone distract you – drivers hate fender-benders with motorists who were talking on the phone.

Learn to stay calm while driving and avoid confrontations. If you sense a motorist getting angry, avoid eye contact, turn the corner, or slow down and let them go ahead. You never know what’s on a person’s mind – they might even be a firefighter or a doctor on their way to an emergency. Give aggressive drivers a wide berth, just in case. Check out www.bigcitydriver.com for more road rage stories.