The car itself is a powerful tool. It is this tiny capsule that takes me places. Moreover, it is a bubble that allows me to be more significant and my actions to be more substantial.
For example, giving people the finger in the car is the only time I feel as if it is really actually giving them the finger. It is saying “Hey man, fuck you,” as opposed to just giving it as a joke to one of my friends. Additionally, giving the finger is such a rare occurrence for me that if I give it to you, you can be damn sure that you are very low on the Good Driver Hierarchy.
The best thing about my car is that while within the safe confines of it, the recipient of my middle finger can’t punch me right in the face, or at least it will take them a great number more steps to do so.
On the flip side, driving in my car grants me escapism as well as literal escape from my favorite form of escapism. Let me explain.
Here’s the thing about “Good Drivers”: There are none.
Or at least there are none that I know or could describe.
The only descriptors one can give another driver are those that have negative connotations.
For example, I know “Fast Drivers,” who don’t hold my safety in high regard.
I know “Slow Drivers,” who don’t think that my time is of paramount importance. In fact, I’ve been told that there have been a lot of accidents caused by slow drivers as other road users get annoyed with how slow they are driving. Who knew? I thought they were relatively safe.
I know “Jerky Drivers,” who don’t want me to be able to sleep during the drive.
Then of course there are “Aggressive Drivers,” who tail people dangerously close, and occasionally honk, all in the name of keeping things moving.