the invisible line

“I hope I’m wrong. But tonight I feel like some sort of invisible line has been crossed that we didn’t even know was there.”

Konstantin Kisin, 9/10/25

We were looking for bargains. Instead, we got a sobering insight into the sad state of our country right now.

My wife shopped in Dollar Tree while I walked outside. The stroll was quiet and uneventful until it wasn’t.

I nearly jumped out of my shoes from the sudden blaring of car horns from a nearby Burger King. The horns were long, loud and obnoxious.

I turned to see two cars parked side by side in the restaurant’s parking lot.

The windows were down on both vehicles and there was a lot of yelling and screaming. I couldn’t understand what was said, but one thing was clear: Everybody involved was angry.

The situation escalated when both drivers held their arms out open windows and started flipping each other off.

Or so I thought at the time.

After what seemed like an eternity, both vehicles drove away. The blue sedan left first, followed closely by the red SUV.

The blaring of horns, yelling and waving of middle-fingers continued until they rounded a corner and disappeared. Then, mercifully, the honking and yelling stopped. Peace and quiet never sounded so good.

With the combatants gone, I resumed my walk. What just happened was no doubt due to road rage.

I silently prayed it wouldn’t end badly.

But my prayer wasn’t answered, at least to my liking. The two cars returned for a curtain call a few minutes later. I could hear them coming a mile away.

They once again parked side by side, but this time it was right in front of the restaurant door. They weren’t trying to hide their anger. Instead, they were publicizing it for all to see. Especially for the poor souls inside the building.

Their temper tantrum was the same as before: Blaring horns, screaming and lots of middle fingers.

It was clear they didn’t return to Burger King for a Whopper and fries.

I was confused.

Why did they come back?

Why couldn’t their dispute be handled somewhere else?

Why did they decide to duke it out in such a public place?

If their presence unnerved and bothered me, it must have been horrible for the people inside. The whole performance was literally playing out on their front porch.

But I was also concerned about the people in the cars. Violence seemed inevitable.

Before I knew what was happening, my legs started to walk across the street towards the restaurant. Even though my head thought it was a bad idea, my legs wanted to be a peacemaker.

My walk even turned into a light jog. The situation seemed urgent.

I walked in front of the vehicles and stopped. The occupants of both vehicles could see me, and I could see them.

Not too close, but close enough to have a conversation. Not too close to the battlefield, but close enough to serve as a referee of sorts.

A woman was sitting behind the wheel of the SUV.  She was alone.

The driver of the sedan was a man. A woman was sitting in the front seat to his right.

All three performers in this real-life horror show were in their late teens or early 20s.

Even though I really didn’t know what to say, these words emerged: “Are you guys okay?”

The woman sitting shotgun in the sedan spoke first.

“Yeah. We’re fine. What about you?”

There was something wrong with her answer. I don’t know what I expected to hear, but this wasn’t it.

“I’m fine.”

The vibes were weird. I didn’t sense any tension between the occupants of the two cars. None.

Had I misread the situation?

Was I just an old man sticking his nose into other people’s business where it didn’t belong?

“I just wanted to check on you guys. You sounded angry.”

The woman in the sedan leaned over, made sure she made eye contact and said, “I’m not angry.”

“In fact,” she said, now pointing to the driver of the SUV, “She’s my best friend.”

If this was road rage, it didn’t make any sense.

Even though I had just been told there wasn’t a fight to break up, I decided to be a calming force.

So, I turned to look at the driver of the SUV. After all, the “best friend” hadn’t said anything yet.

Let’s get her side of the story.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay. Are you okay?”

The look on her face confirmed my gut instinct.

She was being sarcastic. Just like the woman in the other car had been.

“I’m fine.”

It was abundantly clear my presence wasn’t needed or welcomed.

Before I left, though, I wanted to reinforce the reason behind initiating contact. I wanted to make sure they knew I had good intentions. Otherwise. I wouldn’t have interrupted whatever it is they were doing.

“I just wanted to check and make sure you guys were okay.”

I didn’t wait for a response. There was apparently no need for a peacemaker. I turned and walked back to the Dollar Tree parking lot.

It was a walk of shame and humiliation. I felt like an idiot.

But when I got back to my car, the horn honking, yelling and bird flipping started up again. I stopped and looked in their direction. I was confused. Even more than before if that were possible.

After about 30 seconds of non-stop combat, they decided to stop.

The sedan backed up and left the lot, with the SUV following closely behind. I stared at them as they drove past.

The two people in the sedan drove by without looking my way. But the woman in the SUV decided to engage with me one last time. She slowed down, leaned out the window and yelled in my direction.

“Are you okay? I just wanted to check in and make sure you were okay.”

More sarcasm. If it wasn’t clear before it certainly was now. For some reason she despised me and wanted me to know it.

The message was received loud and clear.

She reminded me of a female version of Joaquin Phoenix’s depiction of the Joker when interviewed on the Murray Franklin Show. I was thoroughly creeped out. 

Before I could mull it over more than I already had, a blue truck pulled up beside my car. A middle-aged man rolled down his window, smiled and asked a question.

“Did they give you trouble?”

I knew who he meant by “they.” The stranger had apparently seen me trying to prevent people from hurting each other.

“Yeah. I thought it was road rage and wanted to help.”

What he said in reply took me by surprise.

“I thought they were mad at each other too. But then I figured out that they were actually flipping off Burger King.”

“Why?”

His conclusion was so baffling, I repeated myself.  

“Why would they be flipping off a Burger King?”

The man smiled, shrugged his shoulders and said, “I don’t know.”

I looked over at the restaurant in search of answers. And then I saw it. Something I hadn’t noticed before.

The restaurant’s massive American flag was at half-mast.

For the first time it all made sense. The puzzle was solved.

I was convinced I knew what had just happened.

The people in the two cars were mad, but not at each other.

They were mad because they believed the restaurant lowered its flag because Charlie Kirk was assassinated the day before. They were mad because of President Trump’s order to fly flags at half-mast to honor him.

It apparently didn’t occur to them that the flag could have been lowered for an unrelated reason. That day was the 24th anniversary of 9/11.

But from their perspective the flag was lowered to honor someone not worthy of grief or honor.

I hadn’t misread the situation; they were, indeed, very angry.

Just not with each other. Nor with the terrorists who killed almost 3,000 Americans on 9/11.

They were mad at someone who had opinions different than their own. More specifically, they were mad at someone who had the audacity to share those opinions with others.

Thus, their reaction—public rage and threatening behavior—was appropriate. More than that, it was required.

While I was certainly aware of how divided our country was, it was jolting to see it firsthand.

On a trip to Dollar Tree. At a fast-food restaurant in rural Missouri.

I didn’t get a chance to reflect on the experience for long. A police car pulled into the Burger King parking lot.

My legs immediately made the decision to return to the restaurant. This time, however, my head agreed it was the right thing to do.

The first time I crossed the street was to be a peacemaker. Now I just wanted to explain to those in authority about the road rage that wasn’t. My testimony was needed to make sense of what had just occurred.  

When I walked into the crowded lobby everyone turned and looked in my direction.

Several employees and customers had been trying—desperately and excitedly—to tell the police what happened. Not only were they confused, but it was also clear by their body language and expressions they were scared.

The constant blaring of horns, yelling and bird-flipping had rattled them to the core. They were so frightened someone felt compelled to call 911.

But all attempts to explain the unexplainable came to a screeching halt when I showed up. For some reason my arrival was a big deal.

An older woman spoke to me first. I think she was the manager.

“Are you the one who tried talking to them?”

We all knew who “them” were. The people in the cars who harassed a bunch of strangers in a restaurant.

“Yeah.”

It was obvious what everyone wanted to know.

·       Who were those people?

·       Why do they hate us so much?

·       Why did they just terrorize a Burger King?

I told them what I saw and heard. Details about the people involved and a description of their vehicles.

I also told them my opinion, the only thing that made sense. The three were angry because they believed the flag was lowered to honor Kirk. I added that I wouldn’t be surprised if they were students from a nearby college.

One of the officers said, “Could be.”

By the look on his face I could tell he was processing what he’d just heard. But he didn’t think about it for very long.  The officer was quiet and decisive.

He looked at his partner and nodded in the direction of the door. It was time to go.

They left the restaurant, and I did as well.

As I walked across the street back to Dollar Tree, I turned and saw the police car leaving the parking lot.  It headed in the direction of the college.

When I got back to my car, I told the man in the blue truck what happened. He smiled and listened patiently but seemed more interested in looking at his phone. 

When my wife was done shopping, she too heard the facts and my take on what it meant. How sad it all was. And how it was indicative of what was happening all over the country.

Now, several days later, I have lots of questions with no answers. For instance:

·       How are the people who were inside Burger King doing? Are they still traumatized, or have they moved on with their lives?

·       Did the police find the two cars and if so, what happened? How did the three people rationalize their bizarre behavior?

On a personal level I can’t stop replaying the events in my head, especially the question. The question that dripped with sarcasm and disdain. The question I was asked multiple times.

“Are you okay?”

Not knowing what was going on at the time I said, “yes.”

But now, knowing better, I was not okay.

A human being had been murdered. Someone made in the image of God. A fellow American. A married father of two small children.

I was not okay and was not fine at the time. I was angry and grieving, and that’s still the case.

Ironically, it occurred to me that the people in the cars were also not fine or okay that day.

It’s just that they didn’t know it.

Even more sobering, I fear they never will.

###