During my quest to identify, catalogue and publish my findings on the various
groups of drivers who piss me off (and everyone else I speak to), I have come
across another, not entirely unexpected phenomenon.
We have a new car. It is a nice car with spoilers and a big engine. We still have our
other car because it is not a nice car with spoilers and a big engine and is therefore
ideal for going up the unfeasibly bumpy lane to the yard where I keep my mad orange
fart of a horse. It is also a good car for learning to drive in. So here I am for the
moment at least in the relatively fortuitous position of having a bit of posh and a bit
of rough. Because I am the only one in our house who drives, I don't have to worry
about the environmental consequences of having two cars, since I can only ever drive
one at a time.
So that's nice. What could be better than a nice motah to drive around in, to enjoy for
the first time those added extras that most people probably take for granted but are
entirely new for me: electric windows, a car that tells you when it needs a service,
needs some coolant added, doesn't smell of stale horses (though for me this is not really
an issue) and has grunt when you need it.
So what could possibly spoil my enjoyment of this nice motah. Well, every tosspot who
takes one look at the car number and the body kit and uses it as carte blanche to
accelerate away as though Beelzebub and all his little wizards were on his tail; to
do their best to engage me in a race; to conduct themselves in such a way that you just know
they expect you to drive in the way they would if they had such a motah: harangue you if
you do and harangue you if you don't. For men, there appears to be something either deeply
offensive or deeply sexual about a small blonde woman driving a powerful car, with not much
in between.
Even without the disadvantage of a todger and the associated testosterone levels which can have
such a detrimental effect on the driving ability of the average male, it is very easy to get
sucked into this "yeah come on then show me what you've got" sort of attitude. The best
discouragement I can find to this is simply to glance down at the MPG consumption meter while
accelerating away. While it is pleasant to consider that the act of burning people (ie men) off
at the lights (or indeed anywhere else) is almost guaranteed to reduce the size of their todger
(at least temporarily) by a good 20%, instead I prefer to pootle along, completely ignoring
the baits and smile knowingly, secure in the knowledge that were I to detect errant hormones
surging around in my bloodstream, urging me to compete for supremacy in the "who can cause the
most environmental damage by burning off as much fuel as possible in a short space of time for
purely personal gratification" stakes, I would have a better than average chance of coming out
of it with the biggest todger.
The novelty of having a MPG meter has caused me to ponder another group of drivers, that I have
classified thus:
10) The "I must go as fast as I can even if it's only 10 yards" driver.
WHERE TO FIND THEM:
In queues everywhere.
HOW TO RECOGNISE THEM:
Usually right up the exhaust of the driver in front; excessive use of brakes due to unfeasible
proximity to car in front and a singular refusal to accept the fact that it really isn't going
to get them from A to B any faster. Generally there is also a total lack of clutch control.
WHAT THEY DO:
Either suffer from a dangerously competitive streak or the desire to prove something very fundamental
to anyone watching.
Annoying anecdote:
After a long and stressful day at work I was driving home, minding my own business. Some 50-100 yards
ahead there was a set of lights on red, so I allowed the car to slow gradually while changing down
through the gears, intending to coast along so I wouldn't have to come to a complete stop. This of
course has ramifications for the people behind me: if I were to come to a sudden stop then they would
too and the whole chain of traffic behind would be subjected to rapid stops and starts, which I for
one find annoying. If I am in traffic I would rather cruise along in 2nd gear than have people racing
up to the person in front; if you can't see the traffic ahead then you can't tell whether the traffic
has started moving in front or whether the driver immediately in front is just a plum.
Anyway. So there I was slowing down, when the tossbag behind me decides that I am not moving fast enough
for him and overtakes, cutting in to come to an abrupt halt in front of me. Now what was the point in that?
Did it get him to his destination any quicker? No. Did he feel superior because he had got past me?
Clearly not, judging by the singular manner in which he refused to acknowledge my tooting and expansive
hand gestures, his absolute refusal to look in either of his mirrors. Judging by his stoical refusal to
even look at me as I drew up alongside him at the next roundabout, I would guess that he did actually
feel like a plum. Not that this did me any favours at the time, I must say. Already stressed, shoulders
around my chin, it was the closest I have ever come to getting out of my car and going to bang on
somebody's window to ask what the bloody hell they thought they were doing. Arrghhhhh!
We all make mistakes now and again and it is so much better to at least be acknowledged if you
are on the receiving end of such unnecessary behaviour.
Apart from anything else, in a society that is becoming increasingly aware of the need to recycle,
to avoid excess waste and the utter stupidity of poisoning one's own backyard, one would think that
people would be a bit more mindful of using excessive amounts of fuel by persistently driving in
such an impatient manner. Or am I just older than I thought? I enjoy a good blat myself, but surely
there is a time and a place. I believe it is chiefly because of people like this who have no consideration
in their driving life other than getting from A to B as rapidly as possible, that we are now faced with
a zero tolerance approach to speeding in the UK. Sniff.
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Copyright Rachael Arse Johnson 2000