As you know, I like to go fast. 'Live fast, die young(ish), and leave a handsome corpse'--that is my mantra. At least where motor cars are concerned. On land I may appear friendly, polite, well-spoken, "one of nature's gentlemen". You might even invite me out for a cocktail or feel a sudden urge to introduce me to your parents. But put me behind a wheel and I'm a completely different chap, as one ex-wife and numerous ex-girlfriends can tell you. Sadly I don't yet have a proper sports car in which to express my vehicular passions. Instead I drive an old beloved Benz who starts shaking and rattling the second we approach 95 m.p.h., which is far too slow for California motorways, especially in the early mornings and evenings. There are times we are forced to trundle along at an ungodly 40 or 50 m.p.h. And the reason for this? Sunday drivers. Like Asian drivers, Sunday drivers are not just a cliché. They actually exist! And they are not simply clueless old people. Young single drivers and cars full of families are also complicit in the phenomenon.
I have an explanation. Sunday is a day of worship. Many Sunday drivers are on their way from religious services. They drive along slowly as if in a trance. They are still under the influence of the euphoric effects of being surrounded by like-minded people and subjected to an hour or two of feel-good twiddle-twaddle. It's worse in the evangelical churches. But even mainline Protestant and Roman Catholic churches have succumbed to happy-clappy worship, which has no other purpose than to over-excite its audience with emotionalism and whimsy, like kids hopped up on video games and Jujubes. Sunday drivers are those same kids coming off a sugar high.
So it's no wonder such drivers are seemingly oblivious to other cars, ignorant of their surroundings, suddenly forgetful of the rules of the road: they are drunk with the Word of God as communicated to them by Pastor Bob.
Sunday drivers are a menace to society, and, therefore, should be banned from the roads.
5 comments:
I drive the speed limit.
I resent you glory boys whipping by at 120, hair windswept and a look of supreme happiness splitting your stupid, devil may care faces as I chug along in my... mini van.
It hurts.
RulingPart: Don't let the fact that you have a minivan keep you from going over 55 once in a while. My mama van loves to go 95 m.p.h. on the 405 from time to time (sans children, of course). Blasting The Stooges or any kick-ass punk rock album keeps the lead in your foot, too. :)
Nothing beats a convertable, driven at high speed and worn with an extra long scarf and pith helmet.
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