Involuntary NASCAR

I was taking a load of stuff to my son’s apartment Sunday morning before the start of the fall semester. It had just rained but traffic was flowing at a comfortable 70+ miles per hour. In my mirror I saw a car screaming up from behind me at a high rate of speed. I was traveling at roughly 75 mph and he passed me like I was standing still. Another car moving at the same velocity zoomed by. There was a few feet of separation between the two.

Traffic pulled far to the right as the reckless lunatics played their swerving race game. The car in the number two position passed the other on the left shoulder. They ultimately disappeared without incident.

If they had crashed and their bodies were hanging out of their mangled vehicles, I wouldn’t have stopped. Their antics set the standard for the value of their lives. But it does warrant a reminder for drivers that put my life and that of my family at risk. I wrote this last year and never posted.

It must be NASCAR season.  There are clear indicators.  Like during skunk mating season, when suddenly dozens of striped corpses can be seen strewn on the highway as if dropped by stench fairies.  The signs are everywhere, most notably on the road.

So, for all of you NASCAR aficionados, here are a few pointers to help you coexist with those of us that don’t give a shit that you have a number 8 or 4 on your Ford Taurus:

1.  Merging onto the highway is a skill, not a right.  You are NOT coming out of the pits when you blaze onto the freeway. Your job is to maintain control of your Sprint Metro or whatever “race car” you’re driving and MERGE into the flow of traffic.  It’s not my obligation to initiate violent evasive maneuvers to accommodate your entrance onto “the track.”

2.  When you merge onto the highway at near warp speed and then slam on your brakes because the car in front of you is maintaining the speed limit, I will do my best not to crush you.  No guarantees.  The car trailer I’m pulling with my pickup truck is hauling that yellow thingy called a “skid steer.”  It’s a bit heavy and gravity being what it is, it takes a few extra feet to decelerate.  But that’s physics.  Never mind.

3.  It’s not drafting asshole, it’s tailgating.  I will – and do – slam on my brakes with both feet just for the opportunity to meet you.

4.  When I pull out of a lot or driveway onto a city street and you’re several hundred yards away, there’s no reason to speed up to 50 mph all pissed off that I “came out of the pits” and then tailgate, offering your dismay with a middle finger wave.  Be advised, your life means nothing to me.  (See number 3.)

5.  Duct tape is not “body work.”  Likewise, red tape is not a permanent repair for your tail lights.  I’m tired of running over all of the debris from your “track repairs.”

6.  Hey, “Ricky Bobby,” drifting around corners on city streets does not mean you’re a good driver.  It means you’re reckless and your tires are bald.  Hold off on getting the latest update to Grand Theft Auto and put the money toward a new set of tires from Walmart.  (Surely you have a relative that can get you a discount.)

7. Turn signals.  I mean, even if you change your mind at the last minute, try to give us an indication that you’re thinking about changing lanes or turning off “the track.”

8.  Stop lights are not light trees.  Jesus Christ

9. “Crossover” shmossover. It’s a minivan. The only number you should have next to your family of stick people on your rear window is 13.1 or 26.2 .

10.  On a personal note:  The hair.  Mullets were never cool.

11.  Baseball caps OR sunglasses.  Not both.  I don’t know which one of your idols started the sunglasses-above-the-brim fashion statement but wearin’ your Wileys on top of your cap (for storage) makes you look like a douchebag.