Road Rage

Lois pulled into the left turn lane under the freeway as the turn arrow changed to red. From our right, traffic started to move past us on the one way frontage road—except for one car with dark tinted windows that appeared stalled at the light. A woman in the car behind beeped her horn—perhaps for a second too long—because the stalled car door sprang open ejecting a muscular young guy who gesticulated and yelled profanities as he ran back to the horn blower's car. She backed up with a start, maneuvered around his car and sped away.

Now there were only two vehicles left for a quarter mile: ours with two seniors on board; and his with still opened door--while he was angrily kicking the side of his car. When he saw us watching his antics, he ran over to my window cursing with pumping fists, screaming that we were just sitting there and watching him—why weren't we helping him? [I have helped many stalled motorists in my life—but never under duress.] I shouted to Lois to get out of there. She did—legally so—properly waiting for the left turn arrow to turn green.