This past weekend we went up to Mount Kisco to interview for our apartment. It went well, and we got the place. On the way home, trying to get onto the George Washington Bridge, we had a front row seat to some beautifully executed road rage.
After a BMW full of young twenty-somethings cut us off, a pickup truck tries to merge. We let him. He instead wants to get in front of the BMW, which of course, the BMW would never allow it. Some yelling and cursing and fingers are thrown around.
Makes sense.
The day was hot. Our car’s windows were up, AC on full blast. The blue Jersey pickup truck was screaming something. So the BMW stops. We’re sitting on an off-ramp, under one bridge and over another highway with a few thousand cars behind us. The pickup truck stops. A young man gets out of the BMW and starts punching himself in the face, spitting everywhere, calling the man in the truck a pussy. The driver of the BMW gets out, a young girl is screaming at the man in the blue pickup truck. By this time our windows are down, the oven that is New York City is rolling into our car. We’re listening to every f-bomb with fascination. Good thing my girlfriend, Jacqui, who was driving at the time, didn’t honk the horn, I’m sure our windows would have been smashed just for good measure.
But the fight is averted, and everyone gets back into their cars and drives off, traffic is now allowed to keep moving.
As soon as we get back onto the next highway, these cars are stopped again. They are not pulled over, instead they are just taking up a lane of the highway. The pickup truck is surrounded by six of the twenty-somethings. One hops into the man’s truck, grabbing the tire-iron that he had in the back, another one has a large empty bottle in his hands. The man who was hitting himself runs up to the truck. The man in the pickup truck gets out. He’s in his late forties, about 5’ 10” and two hundred unflattering pounds. He puts his ol’ dukes up like he hasn’t been in a fight since he was twelve. The crazy kid who loves to punch himself does the same.
Who knows, but I bet about 30,000 people saw this go down. We saw it all first, and we drove right around it. I don’t know what happened to that guy but this is how I am pretty sure it went down: The old guy punches the young guy right in the face and drops him, so the kid with the bottle smashes it over the old man’s head while they break all of his truck windows and they probably kicked the shit out of him, literally, until he was dead. Then they got back into their BMW and laughed all the way to Mama’s house. They tell Mama all about it and she rolls her eyes and smiles while drying off some dishes. What happened to the old man? Who knows, he’s probably dead. He probably died of a heart attack after he felt himself choking on his teeth.
Those kids are lucky that guy didn’t have a gun, he would have killed them all. That man is lucky those kids didn’t have a gun, they would have shot him six times.
Why can’t we all just scream and yell and not have to get out of our cars? Why do we have to block traffic? Can’t we just pull over first? Ugh. People are insane.
After boxing for four years, I still cringed watching those kids surround that man on the highway, of course I did. Boxing is a sport, surround a man and beating him to death is cruel and unusual. People, as a whole, never stop disapointing me.
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