Most rage, especially on the road, is a waste of time

The woman in the Audi veers left and waits for the woman in the Grand Cherokee to back out and vacate the parking space. I’m just leaving the grocery, pushing my cart as best I can across the parking lot, considering that federal law requires that no more than two of the four wheels on a grocery cart are allowed to point in the same direction while said cart is in motion.

In fairness, Cherokee Lady was in the wrong. Instead of turning her steering wheel right and departing left, she does just the opposite, deciding to point her car against the flow of traffic and attempt to exit the wrong way.

Audi Lady hits the horn, one of those eight- to 10-second continuous blares not intending to warn but to punish and scorn. Cherokee Lady’s response is to lift a nicely sculpted middle finger. Audi Lady then moves her car forward, pinning Cherokee Lady in the embattled parking space, punctuated by another horn blast.

Out pops Cherokee Lady, steaming toward the Audi’s driver side window, which, to my surprise, the driver is lowering, a decision she immediately regrets when Cherokee Lady thrusts two spindly arms into the cab. Oooh, catfight. Four other cars are now backed up in the flow. A small crowd gathers to enjoy this Jerry Springer Flash Street Theatre.

Somebody with an official badge comes jogging out of the grocery to break it up. The manager? Security? Bag boy? Not sure. But he pulls screaming Cherokee Lady away from cursing Audi Lady and tells her to stay put with all the authority of a seasoned police officer. He tells Audi Lady to back up, because now her antagonist can’t move in either direction. But four other cars have to back up before she can back up. They do. She does. Cherokee Lady slinks back into her car and resumes her illegal exit with another middle-digit editorial to Audi Lady, who is still raging aloud to no one even after she parks and walks alone into the store.

What’s worth losing your temper?

The question is odd, because, by definition, losing our temper is not something we objectively deliberate. It “just happens.” We erupt. But it’s still an important question because, logically deliberated or not, our temper remains always our responsibility. What’s worth losing your temper?

There have been a rare handful of times I would say it was worth it to me. Occasionally — very occasionally — losing my temper in an important relationship was just what the doctor ordered. Sometimes a blowup is what it takes to shake loose the gridlock of misunderstanding and conflict. Sometimes volume and passion are the only ways a mate, friend or family member hears what is really at stake for us. Sometimes volume and passion provide the “wake-up call” that succeeds in making our loved ones really look at their behavior.

But, in gross disproportion, losing my temper isn’t worth it. Audi Lady and Cherokee Lady are neither mates, friends nor family. So what exactly did either of them get out of the parking lot drama? Justice? Being right? The world is a safer place? I don’t think so.

What do I get out of it? Mostly I’m just trying to make sure everyone is equally small, mean and miserable. And to the growing pile of debris I merely add my own honor and class. I am ridiculous. Tantrums are beneath adults. But, in the moment, such fun.

Road rage, on a good day, is a waste of time. On a bad day, road rage is expensive and maybe dangerous. Teaching you a lesson in driver etiquette is not worth one moment spent with police officers, insurance adjusters and coordinating trips to the auto body shop. Or the hospital. Or the funeral home. It’s certainly not worth the risk that the driver whose behavior I’m correcting might also be a driver with a loaded gun under the seat.

Most any rage, on a good day, is a waste of time. Healthy anger, when it’s necessary, doesn’t erupt; it is consciously focused and deployed. It has a cause. A purpose. It defends a crucial value. It affects justice.

Why would we think it’s our job to punish the stupidity or entitlement (or both) of strangers regarding grocery store parking lot decorum? I have more important things to do. Like trying to wobble this drunken grocery cart into the bay, go home and get my ice cream in the freezer.

Steven Kalas is a behavioral health consultant and counselor at Las Vegas Psychiatry and the author of “Human Matters: Wise and Witty Counsel on Relationships, Parenting, Grief and Doing the Right Thing” (Stephens Press). His columns also appear on Sundays in the Las Vegas Review-Journal. Contact him at 227-4165 or skalas@reviewjournal.com.