Why do people drive like they’re operating a freight train?
Here’s something that’s been eating at me. A huge number of drivers seem to think they’re piloting a freight train. Fixed track. Fixed speed. No deviations allowed.
Yes, fine, there’s a baseline of consistency that makes traffic work. Hold a reasonable speed, don’t weave through lanes for sport, signal your intentions. That’s just being predictable, and predictability keeps people alive.
But a car is not a train. That’s the whole point of a car. You have a steering wheel. You have a brake pedal. You can change lanes. You can ease off the gas. You can yield.
And yet, watch how people behave. Someone merges in front of them and they react like they’ve been personally wronged by the universe. Tailgating, honking, flashing lights, gesturing. Over what? Losing one car length? Two seconds of travel time? Some drivers would genuinely rather rear-end the car in front of them than tap the brake. They’d rather sideswipe someone merging than lift off the accelerator for half a second. The brake is right there. Use it. That’s what it’s for.
The mentality seems to be: I was going this speed, in this lane, and any disruption to that is a personal attack. But driving isn’t a sacred trajectory. It’s a continuous negotiation with dozens of other people doing the same thing. Someone needs to merge? Let them. Someone’s traveling a little too slow for your liking? Relax and overtake them safely. The road isn’t yours, and you’re not on rails.
If you cannot handle slowing down, adjusting, or being momentarily inconvenienced without rage, you are, plainly, a bad driver. Not unlucky. Not surrounded by idiots. Bad. The car is built to adapt. The driver should be too.