I Blame Vin Diesel
As the most milquetoast bourgeois white male in the Civilized Western world, you will no doubt be shocked when I tell you I drive a Prius. I consider it a step up from the PT Cruiser I still own.
I never said I had any taste. I would think the milquetoast bourgeois white dude part might have summed that up, but in case you didn’t get that part, I’m hopeless. One day I hope to the balding middle-aged dude in the BMW convertible one day, but by the time I could afford one they may have had to revoke my license.
Anyway, I digress. I’m not a reckless driver. At most, I might try to beat the yellow more than I should (because yellow means go really really fast), and I tend to drive between 5 and 9 miles over the limit, not because I’m trying to get there a little faster, I find that that’s the sweet spot for the Prius to ease back on the engine and let the electric motor do the work. I’m not one of those hypermilers, I just enjoy a good video game. The Prius is one big rolling video game to me, and I allow myself that little joy; To see how many miles I can get out a tank without being completely anal.
Again, I want to assure everyone that I’m not one of those doddering fools you’re trying to get around during rush hour. I move my ass between point A and B like most drivers. But more and more often, I’m running into people on the roads that just piss me off, and I’m absolutely sure you’ve run into them as well. More to the point, I’m sure you thought they were going to run into you.
I’m talking about these maniacs that swerve in and out of lanes, and ride people’s asses like the Boulevard was their own personal game of Pole Position. Or, these crotch rocket drivers that split lanes and drive in-between the cars. I’m just waiting for one poor sod to change lanes without using their blinker and kill one of those idiots. So far in the past week or so, I have been cut off 5 times, I’ve been drafted 12 times, and I’ve damn near been side swiped 3 times. Some of these by sports cars, but most of the time it’s by people in fucking Mazda’s and Hyundais that are just impatient and think they’re losing the race for the NASCAR cup. Don’t even get me started on the Interstate. Those fuckers are crazy, weaving in and out of lanes — sometimes they’ve got a real conga line going on there — two, three, four cars pushing 75–80–90 miles an hour and forcing their horsepower on everybody just trying to get somewhere. I worry for those people because if they fuck up they’re drinking dinner through a straw forever if they’re lucky.
I see these people as they go by, and they almost always look younger than me. I haven’t seen any soccer moms in Honda Odysseys with babies on board pulling this business, though there was one young lady in a Santa Fe who tried to occupy the same physical space as me on the highway recently, until I stomped my foot on the pedal and had time to get out of her way before our DNA co-mingled. Good thing too, I’d look hideous as a blonde. I know this because I’ve tried. I looked like Guy Fieri’s sick bloated cousin.
This craziness always comes in fits and starts, and it’s picked up in the last week or so, and I think I know why. I would be willing to bet you that quite a few of them has gone to see the new Fast and Furious movie that’s just come out. Personally, I haven’t seen any of them, because I. Don’t. Care. I haven’t seen Friends or Seinfeld either. Ever. I was supposed to be the target demo for that bullshit. I am NOT the demo for cars careening around at a bajillion miles an hour while trying not to be dead. It might be a thing, it’s just not my thing. I think the level of fuckery behind the wheel is in direct correlation to the release of one of these movies, and that’s enough for me not to want to see one of the damn things.
But for all the idiots out there on the roads who I believe see the cars careening at a bajillion miles an hour, they see Vin Diesel do it and not die, and they say “Hell, I can do that and not die.” Not even thinking of all the other people on the roads who are actually driving fucking reasonably and not dying. So let me be absolutely clear: doing what you do because you think you can is really fucking annoying for the rest of us who just want to get to fucking work, or school, or wherever without eating YOUR front quarter panel. I’d also like it very much if you’d stop riding my ass even though I’m going 50 miles an hour in a 45 because I’m afraid you’re going to eat my rear bumper. I don’t brake check people, though I’ve been tempted. I don’t trust myself to not end up in a rear ender, and I don’t want the hassle.
I’d like to suggest a solution to this problem though, and it IS a problem. The solution lies in the deep dark 1980s. For a short period of time in this country, there was a car that was exported from that mecca of automotive engineering…Yugoslavia. It was called the Yugo, and I don’t want to say there was no power to these things, but if you lost the zipkey — the same one that got your Evel Knievel Stunt cycle going? Yeah, that one — you were pretty much fucked. I’ve seen more people push Yugos than driving them. I’m telling you we have a market for assholes that need to sit down and be humble like Kendrick says. Fuckers need correcting, and making them drive a puke green box with wheels that can’t get out of its own way for a few months might be just the thing. No Yugos? Find a goddamn Chevette or a 78 Civic. A Datsun B210. One of these fucking mopeds that can’t get over 25. Make ’em ride those for a month or two. In January.
And someone bitchslap Vin Diesel for me because this shit is cray.