"On the road again, I could wait to get on the road again. Playing my music loud, ignoring all my fiends, I could wait to get on the road again." - With apologies to Willie Nelson.

Sitting in bumper to bumper traffic is depressing enough, I didn’t need the punk in his high-school-graduation-gift-sports-car to drive past me at 70 miles an hour to make my day complete.I took solace in the fact that I had to be in the far right lane so I could exit 64 West and take 264 East, and waiting here in morning rush hour traffic was the price that had to be paid.

The sports dude hadn’t read that rule (I’m sure the rule is tucked into the driver’s ed class, that he had just failed, somewhere), or maybe he just didn’t want to pay the fee, which is why his car went from 70 to 20 and then switched lanes ten cars ahead of me and just made the 264 exit.

As I fumed and swore softly, I loosened my grip off the steering wheel and took my other hand from off of the horn. The poor lady in front of me looked perplexed, thinking maybe that I disagreed with her bumper sticker or something. I didn’t, I thought it was fine that her child was an honor student.

My time in purgatory ... I mean the merge lane, had begun innocently enough. I knew that there was only one merge lane and that while I was in hurry I knew that most of the others were as well, so I took my cue and got in line. I let a driver in front of me, I figured he had just forgotten that he had to get in this lane. "No problem, all is forgiven." A few other drivers made the same mistake and were greeted with gestures of "I forgive you, go ahead and merge" from drivers in front of me. Or at least that is what I assume the gestures meant.

Playing leap frog with a wounded three legged turtle on the side of the road helped to pass the time. We were getting closer to the exit ramp. I could tell by the increased pulse and agitation of the other drivers; I was, of course, as cool as boiled ice.

An out-of-towner, wanting to go to the beach, had a flash of inspiration and read a road sign. This is when he decided to join the line of traffic and sought a place to merge in. Being the good Samaritan that I am, I allowed the tourist to merge in front of the car in front of me. "I forgive you, next time buy a map." Again, I may not be interpreting the hand signals exactly right, but that was the gist.

The closer we got to the exit the more tourists showed up. A dozen cars driven by tourist, who ironically were from other areas of Virginia - hence their plates, must have merged right in the last 100 yards. Well, I thought stoically, the tourist trade is good for the area, so I only tooted my horn, instead of the full fledged honk.

It was the sports car zooming by that woke me from my naiveté. Wait a minute! I said to myself, and the turtle who was eating his lunch. Beyond the logic that must be ruling all of our lives, maybe these drivers know what they are supposed to do, but feel that they are better than the rest of us, and should get bumped to the front of the line. Or that their being late, or in a hurry, trumps everyone else. Maybe they have a card that allows them to avoid the sort of rules that the rest of us saps are subject to. Don’t they know that the merge line wouldn’t be so long if everyone obeyed the rules, and that the line becomes long because of the constant "exceptions" that arrive at the turn off point.

Okay, my thought process wasn’t that complex. "They’re cheating," is the only cohesive thought I could muster.After exhausting research and sitting at merge lanes across the Hampton Roads area, I have picked up on a trend. There are a lot of cheaters out there.

With this scientific data in hand, the question begs to be asked. What should our reaction be to such cheats? This is an open book test, take it to work with you and see how you score.

A.) Cheat right along with them.

B.) Go by the rules and curse, resent and become embittered at all those who don’t.C.) Find another route, hoping to avoid any problems.

D.) Repeat a mantra and ignore the injustice.

E.) Write a sarcastic article in an attempt to vent.

F.) Become a police officer, and send cheats to detention (hint, hint).

G.) Move to Montana.

I guess the answer is not as simple as it seems. In a way it is indicative of all of our lives and how we deal, avoid, overcome, or become a part of life’s injustice. In life we all must merge right (or left - this is not a politicized article) and enjoy the wait, even if others miss out on the making of a new friend.By the way, I named him Herbert.

© 2000The Philip Pfiles published July 9, 2000