When did it become the norm for drivers who make the fuck-up to react to being flashed/beeped as if you've just injected them with Rage and told them you've creampied their missus?
Happened to me on Friday. The road is a dual carriageway but with a 40mph limit. Both lanes moderately busy but moving freely. There's a sequence of traffic lights about every 400 yards. This fucking helmet in a van (yeah, I know) is doing a bit of lane-swapping behind me. We get to a red light. I'm third in line in the outside lane, he's second on the inside. Lights change, we all pull off. There's barely more than a car's length between me and the car in front and the van driver, without indicating, pulls out into the outside lane, missing my front by about a foot.
I've got my family in the car so don't want to put them in peril. I beep & flash as I ease back. Half a mile on, we get to the motorway and I overtake him. As I pass, giving him the stare, he's going fucking mental, alternating between the 'wanker' signal and the finger - a middle-aged bloke with another sat next to him in the passenger seat. I give the 'yap-yap' hand gesture in response and continue on my way. He tried to put his foot down and starts flashing. I can't be arsed so just keep leaving him behind.
I seriously don't get this mentality.
I had some whopper on the commute home from Manchester a couple of weeks ago on the M602. I'm behind this little Fiesta-van thing in the lane that's moving most freely. In front of him is a car leaving about 100m gap in front of him. The lane next to us starts moving slightly quicker, so the little-van driver moves into that lane (presumably to try to pass the gap-leaving car, then nip in front of him). Problem is, the gap-leaving car has slightly increased his speed to match that of the neighbouring lane - and I've closed the gap between me and the gap-leaving car so there's no room for little-van to slot back into; he's lost his place. As the neighbouring lane begins to slow again, the little-van tucks in behind me - and proceeds to start extreme tailgating, flashing, giving the full repertoire of hand signals, pointing for us both to pull over. His head is barely above the steering wheel. The fucking diminutive plum. I wonder if he's got a small stepladder in his van. I twirl my finger round my temple in that school playground manner, which doesn't actually placate him. Nor does me slowing down to match the speed of the neighbouring lane. In fact, this all makes him worse. A short time and a lot more gesturing on his part later, he turns off onto the M60 and I continue on the M62. I struggle for the rest of the journey to understand the mentality.
So many crazy people on the road. I never know how to react in dodgy situations - and I've been involved in literally dozens in my near-30 years of driving. At various times I've stopped to argue (more than once ending in a fight... never good), tried to ignore and drive on, played cat'n'mouse with the other driver. Twice I've actually locked myself in, one time phoning the police because some proper psycho almost rammed me off the road in a pick-up and ran out, carrying a pick-axe handle, and screaming "what did you fucking say to me?" (I'd been stopped at a T-junction, turning right, and right up to the line in the middle; he was turning right into the road I was exiting from and, as the road sort of comes back on itself, the norm is for the car turning into the road to flash-out the car waiting to turn right; it makes it easier for both parties. Not him. As he struggles to manoeuvre his pick-up round me he's giving me a dirty glare - presumably for me positioning my car right to the end of the middle line - so I mouth "Well if you'd have flashed me out, dickhead..." As I move forward, he's already turning his pick-up. He comes screaming up behind me; I'm behind another car. He overtakes and forces his pick-up across me. I think "I should just crash into him - it'd be his fault" but instead I brake and stop. And that's when he runs out with his handle. I'm already through to 999 and expecting the windows to be put through. I turn the volume up and talk loudly. The call handler can hear him screaming at me to get out the fucking car (the scumbag's got an Irish accent). I give his reg number to the operator, and the shithead realises I'm talking to someone and stops. I hold my phone to the window that shows the 999 number and he punches the window, calls me every pussy name he can think of (and, to be fair, I'm not feeling particularly brave at that point), runs back to his truck, then he wheel-spins off. I explain that he's driven off, decline the offer to take this further, but ask that they keep a record of the call - they would anyway, they tell me, and give me a reference number.
So many crazy people.
