Merger Etiquette Tends to Be Unyielding

When I imagine hell, it takes the form of a perpetually full, ever-descending parking garage, something similar in atmosphere and temperature to the one under the Sunset Plaza at Crescent Heights. The damned spend eternity in an endless, fruitless search for a space while horns blow and brake lights blink and somewhere quite close by a tricked-out pickup throbs with whatever music the tortured soul hates the most.

There is a special place in this hell for those drivers who refuse to let another car merge in front of them.

I’m not talking about the righteous among us who occasionally refuse to be cowed by drivers who cut in an offramp line at the very last minute because they’re too special to inch along safely like the rest of us, or habitual lane-changers who eschew turn-signals in the belief that their fellow motorists should somehow be able to intuit their intentions. We have all had our “line in the asphalt” moments when we’ve kept our foot on the accelerator in the hopes of quelling boorish behavior.

I’m talking about people who see a blinking turn signal, any blinking turn signal, and make it their duty to ensure that come hell, high water or the sudden appearance of a road crew, that car is not going to get in front of them.

I have seen it on freeway onramps, at scenes of accidents, on streets where two lanes suddenly whittle themselves to one. While most drivers simply sigh and motion the would-be merger in, there is always one person who would rather lose her temper and/or front bumper than give up the precious six seconds it would take to let another car cut in.

I have seen drivers, grim jawed and steely eyed, ignore the imploring waves of people who just want to exit the Ralph’s parking lot at some point in their lifetimes, have seen others purposefully speed up to thwart the signaled intentions of a driver who wants to make a right at the next intersection, have seen car after car refuse to allow a dinged-up Datsun to merge from behind a stalled Plymouth.

Just the other day, a gold Expedition rode on the left hip of my car for at least a mile to make damn sure that, patient turn signal and ingratiating smiles to the contrary, I did not rise above my station and pull in front of him. Or in back of him--when I tried to slow down and let him by, he slowed down, when I sped up, he sped up. Just when I thought I was going to have to call 911, he remembered where he was going and made a sudden left into a 7-Eleven.

Now, I know how hard it is for us, as Americans, to let anyone get in front of us. We are trained from childhood that getting there first, before all the good land/gold/moon dust/oil rights have been taken, is the prime directive. Being sent to the back of the line is a time-honored punishment, being allowed to lead the line a reward.

But most drivers are not trying to get to Wyoming before all the claims are filed or to Disneyland before the Peter Pan line gets too long. Most drivers are going to work, or school, or the grocery store, or home and none of those places, as far as I know, gives extra points for being first in line.

The problem is, as much as we anthropomorphize cars in this culture, we still have a difficult time recognizing that the white Jeep or the blue Saab that seems to be encroaching on our time and territory is, in reality, just carrying another person who is trying to get where she or he is headed. Very rarely do these people have thoughts or intentions that involve us in any way. They were not sent by our competitors to keep us from that crucial appointment, nor are they employed by some shadow agency devoted to making our lives miserable.

I would say that it isn’t a competition, that no one is keeping track, except that isn’t true. I am a firm believer in “carma”--that whatever behavior you exhibit on the road will come around to either let you in or tailgate you all the way to Torrance.

So the next time you’re seething because some jerk seems to think it will completely wreck his life if he lets you get in front of him, remember that he too will experience this same frustration. If not in this world, then the next.

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Mary McNamara can be reached at mary.mcnamara@latimes.com.