Have you ever thought you knew somebody reasonably well, only to be shocked by the person they become when they get behind the wheel of a car? Vehicles have the ability to turn the docile into the hostile, and the patient into the anything-but. What is it about sitting in the driver’s seat that can turn otherwise level headed people into raging madmen?

One of the elements that can fuel road rage is the relative anonymity that vehicles provide. To some, cars become like Carnaval masks, allowing them to passive-aggressively express their frustrations in ways they’d never feel comfortable with face-to-face. Others experience an adrenaline rush when they drive, reveling in the power they wield while donning their Detroit or Japanese or German made exoskeletons. With the push of a toe they can excel past lines of men and women who might otherwise have control over them in social situations. With the turn of a wheel they can cut off that jerk in the minivan who was trying make his exit. There’s no need for complex dialog while exerting your power when a simple finger will suffice!

Although road rage can happen anywhere, it’s more likely to occur in some situations over others. Obviously, the more congested traffic is the more fertile the highway becomes for road rage. The hotter the temperature outside, the hotter the tempers inside. The slower the cars are moving, the faster the hearts will be pumping.

Three weeks ago I drove from Pittsburgh to Albany to visit my grandfather. On the trip there and back I witnessed a few incidents of road rage. Through astute observation I came to realize that road rage is a phenomenon so predictable that its likelihood can be expressed with the following formula:

road rage likelihood = ((number of cars in vicinity / average speed) + temperature above 80F) * (1 + number of Hummers in sight)

Notice that this formula involves dividing by the average speed of the vehicles. This means that if the vehicles come to a complete stop the number approaches infinity!

I used to be one of those people whose blood would boil when stuck in traffic, moving at a snail’s pace. I’d play the lane switching game, hoping to improve my odds with one lateral move after another. Sometimes I’d even exit the main highway, opting for the back roads even though it often took me longer to get home that way. After all, isn’t it better to be making progress on a back road driving at 45 mph rather than 5?

Then one day, stuck on I-376 between Edgewood and Squirrel Hill, I had an epiphany. Even though my Volkswagen was moving at zero miles per hour, I realized that progress was being made. Rather than measuring my progress in terms of distance, it dawned on me that a more important measure of my progress would be one that considered spacetime. If my drive home always takes about an hour regardless of which road I take, then wouldn’t it make more sense for me to simply measure time? In other words, when I’m zipping along at 60 mph, I’m traveling through time at the rate of one minute per minute. When I’m sitting in traffic, crawling along at the breakneck speed of one lone mile per hour, I’m still traveling through time at the rate of one minute per minute!

With this new outlook, traffic stopped having the same anxiety inducing effects on me. Viewing my car as a forward traveling time machine, I came to realize that I should be no more frustrated by traffic congestion than I should be with miles of open road. (Or, if you’re a pessimist, you should be just as furious with empty lanes as congested ones!)

So, the next time you’re stuck on the highway, in a construction zone, moving at glacial speeds behind a suburban tank, don’t let yourself gut frustrated. Even though it doesn’t seem like you’re making progress, you really are. If you think it would help, buy yourself a Doc Brown action figure and keep it on your dashboard. Great Scott! You’re traveling through time!