In a jam, slow down and watch your fellow drivers

Normal is getting dressed in clothes that you buy for work, driving through traffic in a car that you are still paying for, in order to get to a job that you need so you can pay for the clothes, car and the house that you leave empty all day in order to afford to live in it.

- Ellen Goodman

We don't have many real traffic jams in Augusta, but sometimes it happens.

Like last week.

They appeared to be getting the curbs ready for Masters Week, and Washington Road lost a couple of lanes during the morning rush hour.

Well, you know how it is.

"What genius," I think, "scheduled this during rush hour?"

But then my second reaction kicked in. "This is interesting," I thought, as I began to watch my fellow motorists moving at a more observable pace.

There was the guy eating a biscuit and a woman doing her eye-liner. And everyone else was talking on cell phones.

It's a thing I've noticed before. For some reason, people in cars think they're invisible. They think they can't be seen, and, by extension, can't be held accountable. That's why, while driving, they act in ways they would never act if they were walking down a sidewalk.

That's what I was thinking when I noticed the guy in front of me driving without hands. Oh, he had hands, but he was using both of them as he talked to the white-haired passenger in the front seat beside him.

I wish I could have heard the story; he really seemed to enjoy telling it. I could see him turning his head to address the passenger and nodding a lot and waving those hands.

The car reacted the way you would expect - it weaved from one side to another.

Then I noticed one of those little clergy stickers on the rear bumper. "Oh," I thought, "he's a preacher. Maybe he's practicing his next sermon on the old guy sitting with him."

Then, while stopped at the next light, he leaned over and hugged the guy.

Now I didn't know what to think.

"Maybe it's his dad," I thought. "Or maybe it's the chairman of the church finance committee."

He turned into a shopping strip, and I sped on my way, but not too far.

Suddenly, a truck cut into the narrowest of spaces between me and the car ahead, and I braked to open up more space. Then I saw the "How's My Driving?" sticker.

I almost ruined my own driving lunging for a pen and grabbing my notebook. Oh, was I ready to write it down and call from my cell phone. But before I copied the long series of numbers, Mr. Speeder had zipped over to cut off the car to my right and hurried on his way.

The How's-My-Driving deterrent, I learned, only works if somebody's not speeding. If they are, there's not much you can do but kiss them goodbye.

I took both hands off the wheel and waved.

Reach Bill Kirby at (706) 823-3344 or bill.kirby@augustachronicle.com.