Having recently moved to Las Vegas and being accustomed to obeying traffic laws, I am dumbfounded at the level of incivility and outright criminality on the highways. Interstate 215 is a Darwinian jungle. I’ve seen speeds in excess of 100 mph; aggressive driving seems perfectly normal; and the recent ban on cellphones, texting and Web surfing can only be called a cruel hoax. The uplifted middle finger seems to be the major way that Las Vegas motorists communicate with one another.
The other day I found myself in line at a coffee shop with two of Las Vegas’ finest and told them my plight. “I just moved here and am used to obeying traffic laws,” I said. One of the officers began laughing. “You’ve moved to the wrong place,” he said. “How do I drive around here without getting run over, flipped off or shot at?” I inquired. The other officer said ruefully: “I don’t know. We get run over, flipped off and shot at all the time.”
The madness reminds me of the words of T.S. Eliot: “When the stranger says, ‘What is the meaning of this city? Do you huddle close together because you love each other?’ What will you answer? ‘We all dwell together to make money from each other?’ or ‘This is a community?’”
So far I’m afraid I know the answer.
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