The latest data from the National Highway Traffic Safety Administrationreports an increase of 19.2% in New Jersey highway fatalities. Nationwide, the increase is 12%. That’s 12–20 more people dying every nine months. Dying. New Jersey remains the worst roads nationally.

I am unlucky enough to live in the Garden State. Also known as drivers from hell state.

Experts report the increase, far above that of pre-pandemic levels, is due to recklessness: distracted driving, impaired driving, and speeding. Some point to salience saturation: Because we are facing Covid, we get a pass on other threats. Some point to social disengagement: We’re lonely and forget the pleasure — and existence — of human contact.

Experts also agree education and public safety campaigns are the cure. I’ll start with this curt, direct, and downright nasty fear appeal.

AN OPEN LETTER TO THE RECKLESS DRIVER

In my rearview mirror, I watched you and your white van drawing closer. Since my speed was a steady 68 mph, and considering the mere moments you closed the significant gap between our vehicles, you were in the right lane, traveling no less than 90 mph. (I can do math in my head, so I can calculate speed and distance and time. Amazing, you say! Before the new math, we all were able to do that! No, really, we did and can.)

Anyway, my thought: Here comes another irresponsible, unthinking, self-absorbed, selfish cretin.

Yes, I’m referring to you.

I remained in the middle lane as cars were flying by in the left lane and turtling along in the right lane. That’s the stay right except to pass rule. You, and apparently those who took and passed their driving tests after 2010, have forgotten that rule. Or, perhaps the test was too hard for you and your ilk and you received some sort of accommodation so you didn’t need to pass with a respectable percentage.

In any event, that is the rule. (Yes, really, it is.) I was passing the cars on the right. The cars to my left were passing me.

I was also matching the speed of the car four car lengths in front of me. I admit, in good weather (meaning without precipitation — you know, rain, snow, fog), I prefer at least two car lengths for each 10 mph I’m traveling. So, I would have preferred 14 car lengths. I have a reason for that: it’s called stopping distance. Stopping distance is the amount of time it will take for the car to stop once you think and break.

For you, I imagine, it’s far longer than the rest of us because your thinking is clouded. All those tiktoks and reels and memes filling your limited grey matter. But we’ll chat about that in a moment.

In heavy New Jersey traffic, holding a distance of 14 car lengths when traveling at 70 mph is often unrealistic. So, and get this, because it’s important: experienced drivers leave a buffer to each side, so if we cannot stop in time to avoid a collision, we can swerve safely.

I know. It’s okay. Don’t cry or squirm in your chair or look for a puppy because you’re triggered. This is all that thinking stuff you avoid. I’ll walk you through it.

Now, I’ve suffered your type many times.

DELIVERY MORON

Over a year of rehabilitation for me after Mister Delivery Guy was too busy playing with his phone to notice the traffic on I-195 was stopped dead. He came up behind me going no less than 50, so he was not speeding. But he was not paying attention. He hit his breaks about 10 car lengths before totaling my car (and his) and giving me quite a case of whiplash. I know this because I watched him in my rearview mirror, zooming towards me.

He was very sorry. I didn’t sue.

That’s another rule of the road you might not know: when you are driving, just drive. You don’t construct your sandwich. You don’t text. I know you might miss a “I don’t want to be objectified almost naked” selfie from that girl you desire who won’t actually ever grant you access to her body — but keeps you as a friend on her social media to taunt you. You must wait until you stop the vehicle to enjoy her photoshopped booty and over-filtered visage. Or to make a flaming social media comment against someone who actually understands economics and tolerates your nonsense.

DUNKIN DIPSHIT & DREAM GIRL

The second genius who decided my car made a nice breaking system was speeding. And wallowing in her emotions. Poorly timed self-pity resulted in her creaming my brand new Audi.

Two cars in front of me the hefty driver decided she needed a doughnut. Now. She stopped, stopped, on Route 36 to make a hard right turn into the Dunkin’ parking lot. The car in front of me swerved (see, it’s that buffer zone rule) and avoided the accident. I had plenty of stopping distance, so I stopped in time. Except the dreamy dodo behind me didn’t notice all that stopping and her breaking distance was cut by 90 percent.

I also watched her in my rearview mirror. Her shocked expression. Her flinging her drink cup. Her gripping the wheel.

Lots of tears (on her part). Lots of repairs. I didn’t sue. People make mistakes. I showed compassion. Again.

BEER BOY

Another new car, another asshole who I didn’t sue. While traveling through a parking lot searching for a space so I could send an overnight package, I was t-boned by a young man who decided backing out of a space at 30 mph without checking behind him for other cars was a wise action.

The officer issuing the several citations to the beer-coated idiot noted that I was directly behind drunk boy — proving he had not checked his rearview mirror before playing Mario Andretti and totaling my car.

BENNIE BASTARD

Last but not least, before I get to verbally beat your ass, is Bennie Bastard.

I went to Oklahoma to rescue my dog, Artemis. It’s a loving and long story for another article that will mirror image this one in emotional intent. I drove for three days in a rental car, alone with a two-month-old Doberman. On the last day, the last leg, I was passing my office on the way to my parent’s home to introduce the new baby and have a bite to eat.

Silly me. I could have proceeded directly home.

On Route 70, one block from my office, traffic built at a traffic-signaled highway intersection. I was in the fourth car from the intersection. I was stopped. Of course, I glanced at my rearview mirror. Yup. Here we go again.

This time, I watched this Bennie play with his phone. He never looked up until seconds before impact.

What’s a Bennie? In New Jersey, bennie is one of the endearments New Jersey residents use for those visiting and vacationing on our Jersey Shore. They come, they throw trash around, they make noise and park where they are not supposed to park. They are rude to the locals. They have pop-up parties (riots). Yeah. You know. Economic benefit.

This particular bennie was sending a very important text as he creamed me and pushed me a full car length into the car and the people in front of me, which then crashed into the car and the people in front of it and so forth, pushing the first car in line — and the lady within– into the intersection.

Four ambulances. Head trauma. Blood. And one shaken Doberman puppy who was safely crated while her dog-mom was not.

Wow, no way! you say. Yes, way. That’s physics. You really should pick up a book once in a while.

WHITE VAN LOSER

Which brings me to you and yesterday and the almost accident.

You were in the right lane and came up, right on top of the vehicle next to me. You hit your breaks so hard I could hear it. I noticed you slipped back a bit as the vehicle on my right and I kept to our 68–70 mph.

I looked in my rearview.

You had switched lanes and now were riding my bumper.

At 70 mph.

You slammed down on your horn.

No matter your sensitive beta-male temper tantrum, I do not feel compelled to speed up to accommodate you. You are free to follow the rules and pass on the left. But you were thwarted because the line of cars passing on the left was thick. So, more horn.

Yea, good weather at the Jersey Shore. Fucking New York and Pennsylvania plate Bennies.

Why? I ask, why?

ROAD RAGE

Aggressive driving, or committing a combination of traffic offenses endangering others, was the cause of 56% of fatal crashes over a five-year period.

You may defend that you were not acting aggressively, but the number of infractions in those seconds, and your horn blasting, defy your defense.

Here’s a menu of possible reasons for your behavior:

1. Running late. Like the Delivery Boy in my painful example, you can cure this issue by leaving with time to spare. That’s what sane, mature, and responsible adults do. If I have an appointment that’s an hour away, because I live in the crowded State of New Jersey, I leave 30–45 minutes ahead of time. In most cases, I arrive early but am able to grab a coffee, freshen my makeup, use the bathroom. And check my text messages. You can find a nice selection of watches here.
2. Objectification of others. Objectification is not just for girls! When we see another person as an object and deny his or her personhood, we commit objectification. Objectification is particularly easy to commit when, to you, I am just a gold Chevy Cruise and not a person with a life, a loving spouse, children, a Doberman and a cat, with stories to tell. With people who love me and who I love. I am not just a car. I have granted you personhood by noting, yes, that you are driving a white van, but noting you are a person: a cretin, an asshole, a loser.
3. Drugs. I guarantee, like those of your ilk, you are on something. The overwhelming concern with legalizing marijuana is a sign that too many like you want a chemical escape. And I don’t discount prescription happy meds. Or too much caffeine. Or your daily dose of CBD gummies. Or your pot vape pen. I could go on, but driving under the influence of any drug concerns me.
4. Virtual reality. This is my theory and I’m sticking to it. Between the immersion into virtual reality, video games, second life, social media, reels, tiktoks, and the fantasy into which you place your mind combined with your avoidance of cold, hard, facts and rules (like, ah, physics) because feelings have become facts, you have no concept of the real world. You don’t live in the real world. In the real world, you cannot regenerate the way you can in Forza Horizon 5.

A young man I know said: I hope I get into a bad accident so I can sue and make a lot of money. Maybe you think the same way, you Xbox Nightmare.

Have you ever seen a car accident? Not the ones in movies and on television. A real one. With bloody limbs akimbo? With the two-year-old covered in blood crying in the cop’s arms and straining for her mom who’s not waking up. With skulls with missing eyes? With hair embedded in the windshield? With body bags lined upon at the roadside?

Have you ever been in an accident? Even in a fender-bender, the way your teeth clack together, the feeling of your head jerking forward, the gripping of the wheel followed by the swelling of your wrists and hands… It’s something you never forget.

For each of the accidents I have related, I can still hear the impact. I can still feel the impact. Between the neck pain, car repairs and lost value reported on CarFax, and increased insurance premiums (New Jersey dings drivers even if they are not at fault), the financial, physical and emotional costs to me have outweighed my tolerance.

Let’s just clear the air. Get something straight. Lay it on the line.

I’ve survived as long as I have because I’m smart, I learn from my mistakes, and I’m tougher than steaks at a roadside diner. And I’ll tell you what, little man with little appendages, don’t mess with me.

My patience and compassion are gone. I will continue to drive defensively and not engage in road rage. But if you hurt me or mine, I will sue. I will own your great-grandchildren. I will hunt you and yours down with the nuclear power of a supernova.

Don’t be afraid of dying in the accident scumbag. Be afraid of me.