"The World is Full of Crashing Bores"
Through the course of each day, we are faced with endless decisions—most of which we barely even register.
What should I eat breakfast? What time should I leave for work? (Ha ha, suckers, I don't have that problem, yet) Should I go to bed now or pay the price for staying up late tomorrow? Should I really wash my hands after changing that last dirty diaper?
Since becoming a parent, I've become hyper-sensitive to the multitude of bad decisions that are made every second of every day. From poor eating habits (of which I'm certainly guilty) to horrid fashion choices (again, guilty), I've decided that the worst offenders are people who make poor choices while behind the wheel of their cars.
I have been cut off, and nearly rear-ended/T-boned/head-on'd more times than I care to remember, and, as a result, my car's horn gets used more often than a rape whistle at a frat party.
Seriously, do any of you know how to drive?
Last week, while Connor and I were at a nearby playground, a woman sped into the parking lot, with her music blaring. Once she "parked" (which more resembled a slide into home plate) five kids poured out of her smallish sedan. Let's do the math on this really quick: One compact car=no more than five seatbelts, tops. Even IF she had carseats for these kids, which she DIDN'T, she couldn't have fit them into her car. On top of piling five kids into an already space-challenged backseat, she DECIDED to drive like she was recreating the chase scene from Bullitt. I talked myself out of calling tha fuzz, assuming that she lived across the street from the park and ran a small day care out of her home and had no other means of getting an ornerous bunch of hellions to the park. I think I may have also imagined that she had a limited income and that she was dying of cancer.
Today, I was "cussed out" by an older, heavy-set man with swatches of gray hair at his temples, behind the wheel of his mid-life-crisis convertible because I wasn't driving at a satisfactory speed, which forced him to cut me off rather than simply merge behind me, as I was the only other car on the road.
"YOU SPED UP, YOU PECKERHEAD!!!" he hollered at me when we stopped next to each other at a subsequent traffic light. "SO DID YOU, ASSHOLE!!!" I replied, laughing at his rage, later glad that Connor wasn't in the backseat to witness my total failure as a role model.
"STAY THE F— OUT OF THE WAY!!!" he yelled back, and sped off.
I'd also like to mention that, several weeks ago, I was given a healthy dose of "the bird" by a driver who felt I'd wronged him—a driver who, I should mention, had a very large and prominently displayed Chrstian bumper sticker on his car.
So, just slow down. You'll get there eventually. Besides, damn near none of you know how to be on time anyway, (ah, another post for another day) so I really don't understand what all the rush is about.
What should I eat breakfast? What time should I leave for work? (Ha ha, suckers, I don't have that problem, yet) Should I go to bed now or pay the price for staying up late tomorrow? Should I really wash my hands after changing that last dirty diaper?
Since becoming a parent, I've become hyper-sensitive to the multitude of bad decisions that are made every second of every day. From poor eating habits (of which I'm certainly guilty) to horrid fashion choices (again, guilty), I've decided that the worst offenders are people who make poor choices while behind the wheel of their cars.
I have been cut off, and nearly rear-ended/T-boned/head-on'd more times than I care to remember, and, as a result, my car's horn gets used more often than a rape whistle at a frat party.
Seriously, do any of you know how to drive?Last week, while Connor and I were at a nearby playground, a woman sped into the parking lot, with her music blaring. Once she "parked" (which more resembled a slide into home plate) five kids poured out of her smallish sedan. Let's do the math on this really quick: One compact car=no more than five seatbelts, tops. Even IF she had carseats for these kids, which she DIDN'T, she couldn't have fit them into her car. On top of piling five kids into an already space-challenged backseat, she DECIDED to drive like she was recreating the chase scene from Bullitt. I talked myself out of calling tha fuzz, assuming that she lived across the street from the park and ran a small day care out of her home and had no other means of getting an ornerous bunch of hellions to the park. I think I may have also imagined that she had a limited income and that she was dying of cancer.
Today, I was "cussed out" by an older, heavy-set man with swatches of gray hair at his temples, behind the wheel of his mid-life-crisis convertible because I wasn't driving at a satisfactory speed, which forced him to cut me off rather than simply merge behind me, as I was the only other car on the road.
"YOU SPED UP, YOU PECKERHEAD!!!" he hollered at me when we stopped next to each other at a subsequent traffic light. "SO DID YOU, ASSHOLE!!!" I replied, laughing at his rage, later glad that Connor wasn't in the backseat to witness my total failure as a role model.
"STAY THE F— OUT OF THE WAY!!!" he yelled back, and sped off.
I'd also like to mention that, several weeks ago, I was given a healthy dose of "the bird" by a driver who felt I'd wronged him—a driver who, I should mention, had a very large and prominently displayed Chrstian bumper sticker on his car.
So, just slow down. You'll get there eventually. Besides, damn near none of you know how to be on time anyway, (ah, another post for another day) so I really don't understand what all the rush is about.
...The soapbox is now closed.
posted by Carter at 5:54 PM
3 Comments:
And then there is the bumper sticker on the front of your car that says, "Cut me off and break please."
Good thing there's no such sticker on YOUR car.
...sigh...another missed opportunity to call 911. So sad.
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