"Baaaaaaaarrrp!" He leaned on his horn. I looked into the rear view mirror and saw a grey, balding male mouthing abuse. I couldn't hear him, but judging from his facial contortions, he was not telling me to have a nice day.

Suddenly, irrationality flooded my brain. I should have flipped him a finger and moved on but the red mist descended and I lost it. I slammed the gear shift into Park, pulled on the handbrake, undid my seatbelt and opened the door.

In that millisecond, I had decided I was going to walk back to his car, open his door, belt him, take the keys out of his car's ignition and throw them into some nearby bushes. I'm not a fighter. Presuming he'd been on the low side of celebrating his centennial and still had a pulse, there was every chance that I would come second in any physical encounter, but in that moment it didn't matter.

I was saved from my own stupidity by my girlfriend who quickly appreciated what was about to happen and yelled "Marc! No!!!". It was the mixture of shock and fear in her voice that stopped me, one foot still in the car, the other on the roadway, from carrying out my planned assault.

I got back in the car and drove off at 20km/h, hoping and, I'm sure, succeeding in infuriating my tormentor even more. When he tried to pass me, I cut him off. Eventually, I had to turn off and he sped away into the traffic. I imagine his adrenalin was pumping, too.

I didn't calm down until I got to the office and it wasn't until I was sitting down with a cup of coffee that I appreciated how easy it is for a reasonably rational person to suddenly be transformed into an assailant.

I could have been arrested for assault. If so, I'd have been found guilty, "he sounded his horn at me, you worship" not being one of the great legal defences. While a stretch in the slammer would undoubtedly prove to be a rich source of weblog material, it is not one which I am particularly keen to explore.

The man was obviously wrong to have done what he did. In another heartbeat, I would have moved on in concert with the car in front. Unless he was completely brain dead, he would have known that but he had to sound his horn and start mouthing abuse. Why? Just had a fight with his wife? Underwear too tight? There was no excuse for his raging impatience any more than there was for my over-reaction. What's the matter with us? Why do we feel inclined to declare war on total strangers?

The next day I was driving along Coronation Drive when the car in front suddenly changed lanes causing one beside me to brake heavily. I don't know that it was done with malice. Inattention and carelessness, I suspect, were the causes but it provoked an incident.

The driver of the car alongside, a big man in a security guard's uniform, then cut in front of me, pulled alongside the female driver who had cut him off and began shaking his fist and yelling what I presume were obscenities at her. She accelerated and he took off in pursuit and they disappeared along the Inner City Bypass.

Scenario three occurred in a shopping centre on the Sunshine Coast where I was looking for a parking space.

I'd already done a lap and was beginning to mumble to myself about the inadequacy of the parking when a sixty-something-year-old woman carrying a shopping bag waved, smiled and pointed to her car, which was parked a few spaces along. She was offering me her parking space. I wound down the window, waved and yelled my thanks. "What a nice woman," I thought, suddenly filled with the warmth of gratitude towards one of my fellow humans.

Tuesday last week was the day on which I decided to stop shortening my lifespan by working myself into a purple-faced rage whenever someone did something I regarded as stupid. I'm still going to complain about slow service, try to protect those close to me and stand up for what I believe to be my rights, but I've sworn off road rage and ranting at those frustrations in daily life about which I can do nothing.