Let’s take an ordinary male specimen. We’ll call him Vincent T. A bit of a complainer, just enough, always in a hurry, always late, a tad impatient. A random guy. Let’s find a city where his duty to be courteous will be challenged. For instance: Nice. In the middle of construction, with numerous diversions and local peculiarities such as double-parked cars and motorbikes appearing from nowhere, the Azurean city is full of pitfalls for motorists who want to respect the Courtesy Driving Day.
The challenge doesn’t scare me. A journalist never faces obstacles, and being well-prepared, nothing can happen to him. I motivate myself. I sit behind my wheel, take a deep breath, turn the key, and off I go! I promise, I’ll contain myself, nothing can irritate me. After a few meters, the first trial arises. Forgetting sunglasses irritates me as I face the blinding sun. I hold back. A few meters further, a city bus stops at its stop. Lacking foresight and anticipation, I find myself behind it. I turn on my left indicator, filled with Zen attitude, I wait very patiently to be let through. If the bus hadn’t moved, I’d still be there! I say nothing. I will not be fooled twice. I stay in the left lane. At the next stop, a motorist, as clumsy as I am, remains stuck behind the bus. I sympathize, flash my lights and let him merge. He thanks me soberly. My first act of courtesy. I am proud. It’s not that hard to be courteous while driving. Was it a refined civility? You be the judge… Aware that this is not enough for me to be awarded the title of the most adorable driver, I continue my good behavior by letting pedestrians cross. Incredible!
Second act of resistance against my vices of bad driving: not being very “cutting-edge technology”, I have not yet switched to a hands-free kit. Usually, when my phone rings, nine times out of ten, without any guilt, I answer. It’s not right. That’s at least what some very professional police officers told me one day when they caught me red-handed. This time, on Thursday, April 5, 2007, the phone continued to ring unanswered. Just as incredible! I keep driving.
At the first traffic jam, at the Acropolis exit on the Mathis road, I discreetly observe other drivers. They seem calm. One smokes his cigarette, a young woman laughs rather foolishly alone in her Twingo. She must be listening to jokes on the radio. In a good mood, I laugh even more foolishly since for me, there was no reason. In short, everyone remains courteous in the face of this first challenge. On Félix Faure, things get tough. Cars are bumper to bumper for a few kilometers. Analyzing the situation, it occurs to me: it is much easier to remain courteous when driving without a specific purpose, without being expected, without looking for parking… I then consider this test as very easy to overcome. Euphoric, I head towards the Promenade des Anglais. The sun beats down. We’re not moving forward. Tourists sipping on terraces make me somewhat jealous. Traffic lights are very useful for jotting down some impressions in my notebook. Minor issue, I delay my starts to finish my sentences. It honks behind… Two-wheelers weaving through begin to push me to my last bastions of vigilance and composure. I move aside, now right, now left… Tired of the slowdown, I take Cronstadt street, my savior. A real pleasure, all is calm. I felt safe. The beginnings of irritation are defused.
From naivety to exasperation
Completely soothed, like a modern-day hero, I decide to brave the impossible, the unbearable, to play with my life. I plunge onto boulevard Carabacel. It’s 4:30 PM. Everything is jammed. A duty to master my nerves. The radio helps me. Indochine, Portishead are my morphine. I see other soldiers (sorry, I meant to say drivers) start to lose their cool. They move forward and block successive intersections on Carabacel. I avoid imitating them. A neighbor busies herself correcting her French papers. We keep company for a few meters. Surprised by her activity, she justifies it: “It’s just a matter of habit.” That must be the secret: to have so much habit of these situations that they become ordinary. With courtesy, I wish her good luck. She thanks me. And we continue our journey. Thirty minutes on Carabacel! It’s insane! My nerves slowly fray. Decency prevents me from sharing the expletives I uttered. It starts with one you regret. Then a second follows. Then a third. It’s a spiral. The Barla Crossing is a trench war: a bus must cut across three lanes, some vehicles engage and remain in the middle. The incessant lane changes intensify the phenomenon. In short, in a word as in a hundred: a real mess.
My path of suffering leads me along Acropolis then Delfino intersection. The Paillon tunnel is closed. I curse the construction. I get annoyed at having wanted to play the hero. It’s very difficult to be refined while driving. One must travel from point A to point B. Time losses exasperate. But there’s nothing one can do. One must put things in perspective and keep control. Despite very complicated traffic conditions, I haven’t seen anyone getting angry at another driver. Just a few honks here and there. I saw signs of thanks, apologies, and dismay. And just like me, the expletives didn’t leave the car. The day of courtesy on the road, through the efforts made, proves that we can act with civility.
