In 1953 Arthur C. Clarke wrote: "Expedition to Earth", a novel wherein it is stated that "rules were made to be broken" and ever since we have been using this to commit "white crimes" or innocents that are not really harmful, and for the most part are sometimes funny. I wonder if Bill Clinton ever used this term? We "won't go there" will we haha.
I know I mention vehicle maladroitness (shitty drivers) all-too-often, but I must mention one more of my pet peeves about the soccer moms in vans, and any others who have an in-frangible opinion that they are "king of the road", in that the law does not apply to them when they are in a rush, which is 99% of their road time.TAILGATING is a quite common occurrence these days.
Picture this: You are driving along, watching out that you do not go much over the posted speed limit, watching out for kids darting out from between parked cars, looking to the right and left while passing through intersections, and keeping an eye on the road before you, when all of a sudden you see an image in your rear view mirror..."MY GOD," you scream out, "ANOTHER VAN MOM."Immediately I go into my insidious mode, to counteract this pernicious driver.
No, I do not give her the infamous finger, or mouth the "F-word" in the rear-view mirror; I do not even allow her to know that I know that she is right on my ass. I mean, one could not even put a match stick between the bumpers. Nope, I refuse to give out the satisfaction that she holds a place on this planet.
Alright, I know you ask, "What do you do?"
To keep matters simple hear, I use my unproblamatic approach to this all-too-common occurrence of aggressive driving...I go into my "senior citizen driver's mode."
I simply begin to slow down, slowly, looking from side to side, letting the Van Mom think I am paying no attention to the "rules of the road" whatsoever. In fact, the slower I go the faster she goes, well at least her pulse begins to bounce. Now my entertainment leads off with a fabulous picture of the Van Mom in my rear-view-mirror pounding her steering wheel, mouthing some very clear words that even a small child recognizes from any school yard.The Van Mom, caught in this terrible dilemma of a quandary particlular to one being in a mad rush. She cuts fast to the right, attempting to pass this old man ahead of her, but the old man is slowly drifting across the lane, now straddling both lanes as he views the city workers patting down the hot tar on the other side. Keep in mind that one still cannot get a tissue paper between our two bumpers and I have yet to acknowlege the Van Mom. Her face has changed, screwed up and violet in colour, and I can even envision steam seeping from those two things on either side of her head. My God, the Van Mom now sees that we are slowly approaching down on a green traffic light ahead...she ultimately fears the red, in that she will have to stop and chew her newly done nails, as she pounds the steering wheeling in anticipation of running that next light...she contemplates running up the curb and taking a chance with taking the sidewalk route to circumvent the ole man ahead...she comes to her senses as a group of seniors are stolling along the sidewalk, gently inching their walkers, enjoying the flowers on the side of the road...the Van Mom missed the flowers and fell back in behind the ole man who was now parked at the yellow light, pretending to caution on the side of safety and wait for the next green, fit-to-be-tied.
The light turns greeen, the Van Mom roars to the left, screeching with only two wheels, and the ole man wonders if the Van Mom will ever get to her destination, on time and alive.