There are two types of driver that throw me in a rage: the strong hardback one who parks himself or herself in the handicapped section, and the BM or ZR chauffeur who goes from excessive speeding (to reach some destination) to the debilitating crawl (seeking out suckers).
I frequent a certain ultramodern supermarket, where parking is precise but copious, and room for the physically challenged markedly present and upfront. It’s just proper! The problem is this magnanimous facility is abused.
I have sat and counted no fewer than a dozen able-bodied men and two women haughtily and with impunity take up positions under the wheelchair emblem within a period of 45 minutes one early busy night. In all that time only one genuinely handicapped shopper appeared on the scene: a Muslim, peace be unto Allah, who favoured the right leg and grimaced in pain as he wobbled to the entrance of the supermarket.
I was happy for him that he had found a place closest to the doors of entry; enraged that the careth-not could be so despicable as to think of robbing the lesser fortunate of their right to public comfort and ease.
Can it be these abusers of the handicapped’s parking spots believe the physically challenged do not get around at night? Or have any business being about after sundown?
Not that this travesty doesn’t take place in the day; it’s just that it is more pronounced at night.
There may be the need for drivers’ ushers in the parking lot. Not security guards; lest the hardbitten able-bodied call for a one-day shopping boycott.
And we call ourselves civilized and Christian!
And why are so many of these minibus and route taxi drivers so horrible? Let me say there are some wonderful souls who manoeuvre these vehicles on the street. They are courteous and thoughtful, and drive within the speed limits. They even speak to you, or salute you, as they go by.
It’s the others, the road hogs, who need to be put off our streets. It seems their loyal passengers have become immune to the danger they actually face by the reckless driving presented. On the odd occasion I have had to take a minibus or ZR, I have never come across any of the gentle drivers. I have been terrified every time.
My heart has broken several long jump records, and if you counted the multiple skipping of heartbeats you could get from me a new Bajan musical rhythm.
I have experienced corners taken so fast, that I thought we were riding on the sidewalk or on the toes of pedestrians. I swore I heard victims screaming; it was the screeching of tyres.
The very worst is being overlayed on each other in a ZR like sardines in a tin and tossed about as if in oil as an overzealous driver takes the corners to The City. Add to that the small space that these chauffeurs leave between themselves and the vehicle before them.
With no 20/20 vision, you could still readily read the registration number in front of you, the make and line of a car, and count all the scratches.
Of course, over and over you grab the back of the seat in front of you as the ZR hurtles to a stop for somebody who rushes out from a house or an alley just in time to catch the van.
My trepidation is a little less when I am driving behind a delinquent BM or ZR man, only because I am confidently in control of my machine. But it is still not easy.
I have driven behind a minibus whose right indicator was flashing all the way from the Frank Worrell Roundabout to Eagle Hall – even when it pulled in at half the bus stops in-between. Another was so well negotiated in the middle of the road that I could not overtake it for nigh half-hour as its driver cajoled pedestrians, passers-by, residents and paros to get aboard, intent on stopping from getting past me and depriving it of revenue yet another minibus, whose chauffeur I could hear swearing intermittently from within my air-conditioned car with its windows securely closed.
Some people believe the root of the problem is ignorance; I wager it is inconsiderateness and stupidity.
Truth be told, I have every right to fly into a rage when I face this madness on the road. Only a Traffic Task Force will do!
• Ridley Greene is a Caribbean multi-award-winning journalist.