If you've experienced that delight you'll know what I mean.
Eventually though we creep forward and it turns out the entire vehicle ownership of Rotorua - well it felt like that - had been held up by a guy waiting for a parking space.
Not for this plonker the possibility of considering other drivers or the general traffic flow. No, this guy wanted this particular spot. Now.
Trouble was there was already somebody in it.
Okay, they had the keys in their hand and were about to get in and presumably drive away. This, it seems, was enough to persuade our traffic jam inventor that he should wait.
So he did. In the middle of the busy road.
Now I'm not big on road rage. I happen to think it's a bit silly. There are other ways to vent your frustration which don't involve doing someone bodily harm or yelling out every four-letter expletive you can think of, usually in front of kids.
So I decided to give our perpetrator The Stare. I'm sure we've all given it a go at some time.
Come to think of it we probably shouldn't should we? I mean that could antagonise somebody into an act of road rage so maybe we should flag it.
For the purposes of this story though I did.
The Stare in my case has been perfected by my mother and includes the wildest of wild eyes. Born on Halloween, my mum conjures up scary stuff when she gives you the stare. You think ghosts, axe murderers, satanic rituals as she unblinkingly fixes her gaze on you, boring deeper and deeper into your soul.
It scared me four-letter-word-beginning-with-S-less. Or at least it did when I was 7.
Regardless. It is hereditary and there I was giving it full on to Traffic Jam Man as I cruise past slowly, window down.
Trouble is I'm not my mum (who presumably is terrorising the grey power mob down her way these days; must check). I'm a bald, chubbo with glasses driving a pretty ordinary family sedan.
A rugged ute or something like that would've been better I reckon but at least I've got his attention. He's out of the car and he's looking my way.
This'll teach him I figure as I raise my eyebrows in one of those "what on earth were you thinking?" expressions.
Luckily I catch his gaze. Got him. He's getting the message. I am not happy.
But then, just as quickly, he breaks away, smiling and shaking his head.
And I realise my querying expression through the open window has been accompanied by Taylor Swift singing "Marry me Romeo ... " Groan. Maybe next time I get the urge to indulge in a bit of road rage I'll just concentrate on looking straight ahead and singing along to Taylor ... with the window up.
-Kevin Page has been a journalist for 35 years. He hasn't made enough money to retire after writing about serious topics for years so he's giving humour a shot instead.
