AFMR 816
Yes, I mean you, you stupid tool
Find your way to a driving school
Silver Chevy Optra LS
You never learned to drive, I guess
I’ve seen you do some stupid things
Like you’re looking for some angel’s wings
The book is filled with rules, it’s true
But I guess those don’t apply to you
I hope that when you crash your ass
There’s no one else to smell the gas
But if I thought that, then I’d be dumb
There’s millions more where you came from
Something on a different subject tomorrow. I promise. Four out of the last six posts, counting this one, have had something to do with my car. And I love my car, by the way. Honda Fit, but we’re not going to have that discussion today.
I spend a lot of time in the car. Not as much as I used to, but still a little more than an hour and a half every working day (or night). Probably I post about driving too often, but this is the only place I do write about it. This post, I’d like to make a couple of points about personal space while driving.
Point number one: don’t get too close.
Remember the old Two-Second Rule? If I pass something, you should pass it at least two seconds later or you’re too close to me. The speeds at which the Two-Second Rule allows a distance of less than a metre are rarely encountered outside of a driveway. Back off.
There’s a reason for the Two-Second Rule and it’s a simple one. The average reaction time of someone behind the wheel is three-quarters of a second, and that assumes that you’re not talking on a cell phone, reading the newspaper, fixing your makeup, shaving, or doing any one of thousands of other things that remove your eyes and attention from the road. During that 0.75 seconds, whatever is happening to make you react almost certainly continues to happen, shrinking the available time and distance in which your reaction can do any good.
Of course, you’re thinking, “But I’m a good driver,” and maybe that’s true. So maybe your reaction time might be half a second instead of three-quarters. Do you see a significant difference there? A quarter of a second isn’t all that long. And if the reason you’re that close is to tell me you’d like to pass, try going around. Seems obvious, doesn’t it? If you’re on my ass for too long, I’m quite likely to decide that you’re an idiot and ease up on the gas a bit so that I slow down to piss you off. Use some brain cells.
Point number two: stay in your own damned lane.
Many roads have these beautiful white or yellow lines painted to define lanes. The object is to keep your vehicle between a pair of these lines. If a line is currently passing under your car, you should pick which lane you actually want to be in and go there. If you start to drift when I’m near you, I reserve the right to honk and call you a rude name.
For roads without painted lines, it’s still very easy. The half on your right is yours, the half on your left is mine.
Personal space. Some for my car, some for yours. Respect it.
Intrepid Drivers.
My opinion, for the record: the Chrysler Intrepid is the poor man’s Hummer (Am I the only one who rolls my eyes every time I’m passed by a fuel sucking H2 or H3 on the highway?). In addition to the price tag, maintenance costs, and pathetic fuel efficiency, something close to 50% of Intrepid drivers appear to be idiots. I’ve been cut off, honked at, had high beams in my rearview, had headlights flashed at me by impatient dickheads who want me to do 150 while I’m passing someone else, and gotten more sneers, snarls, and rude gestures from Intrepid drivers than nearly all other cars combined. I’ve witnessed more sudden lane changes without signalling, cell phone conversations, horns honked for no apparent reason other than impatience, highbeams on the highway, headlights flashed, sneers, snarls, and rude gestures from Intrepid drivers than all other cars combined.
I don’t know exactly when I first noticed the trend, but it was sometime during the period I worked in Toronto and lived outisde of it so had an absurdly long commute. My commute is much shorter now, but still mainly on the highway. There are a lot of cars out there, and too many of them are Intrepids.
Whenever I see an Intrepid, I wait to see the driver something stupid, and I’m rewarded far too often, if rewarded is the right word. But I keep watching. Someday, I’ll be too close to the action when an accident happens because of an Intrepid driver and I’ll need to be able to react fast enough to get out of the way.
This car can’t go out of production soon enough. It shouldn’t take too many years for the ones out there to fall apart or rust out. Maybe sacrificing a few spare parts and a pint of 10W30 to the auto gods will help things along. Probably not. More likely, the marketing demons will come up with new and exciting for overpaid zombies to buy and the Intrepid will slowly fade from view. As long as they stay away from me… but they won’t.
If you happen to be an Intrepid driver, please don’t be offended. There’s a 1 in 2 chance that you aren’t one of the wing nuts I’m talking about. Of course, there’s also a 1 in 2 chance that you are.
Considering I no longer live in a major city, I have a long commute. I spend thirty-five to forty minutes on the only major highway in this part of the province. It’s busy at times, but not generally overcrowded and you rarely drop below the speed limit unless you’re behind a transport going uphill.
I’m used to making that commute in a battered 1991 Acura, but a week or so ago my long-serving steed blew a cylinder and I haven’t decided on a successor vehicle yet. In the meantime, I’m driving our van. Bigger, hungrier, less responsive. Sometimes I think I’m still in the Acura. That happened this afternoon on the way to work.
I get tired of being the nice guy, letting people take too long to pass me and running up someone else’s tailpipe. When I get to that point, I’ll pull out to make that pass even if it slows someone else down. But I forget that the van isn’t as responsive as the two door hatchback I’m used to. It takes longer to accelerate so people tend to run up my tailpipe. I’m immediately sorry and try to expressan apology to the person I’ve just irritated.
After pulling back into the right hand lane in front of the transport, several other cars passed me. The second of these wound down the passenger side window and some little knob barely out of his teens leans out and gives me the finger, presumably on behalf of some other little knob.
I have several responses ready for people with road rage. My standard is to wave my hand dismissively à la Dogbert (thank you, Scott Adams, the “Bah” is quite satisfying). Occasionally, I like to stick a finger up my nose and pretend to flick a booger at the offending idiot. Today, I couldn’t help but laugh, gave the young bonehead a big smile and a Dogbert Wave.
Life is good when you can piss someone off who’s being an asshole.
