Car of the Year (FF)

FF- Flash Fiction

Copyright - Sandra Crook

Ladies and Gentlemen, the new Ford Fantastica for 2037! 

Yes, we are pleased to present the most advanced American automobile ever built! Includes automatic parking, automatic driving, built in automated cursing voice including over 100 choice expletives, and --- new this year --- robot entertainers who fit right into your steering wheel!

Yes, they sing, they dance, they tell jokes.  Let's listen:

I'm Spinner, I just got in driving from the east coast and boy are my wheels tired!  You know, marriage is very difficult.  Take my wife ... please!  

  

Unfortunately, folks, American cars are still are no match for foreign when it comes to funny material.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I think the problem for the Ford Fantastica could be fixed by hiring the Friday Fictioneers to write better material for Spinner.  One can imagine how Ford's profits would soar if Spinner began doing material by Russell Gayer!

Oh, no,  I mean sour.  Profits would sour.   My mistake.

Click right here to read the other takes on the picture prompt above and try putting some of their words in Spinner's mouth and see what happens. You may just wind up with Car of the Year for 2037!

"Bye, Future Car," Part II

                                            "Bye, Future Car"

A New Version of a TV Commercial You've No Doubt Seen

The guy from the first commercial and his wife are standing in front of their lovely suburban home about to get into their late model Audi. As he climbs into the driver's seat he gives his wife a kiss on the cheek, upon which a strange man comes up behind them.

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

"Of course, she's my wife.  Who are you?"

"Oh, hi, I'm the Second Husband."

"What do you mean?  We just got married."

"Correct.  You're the first husband, and I'm the second.  One, two." 

"Honey, get in the car!"

"Funny how I'll be saying the exact same thing to her in eight years.  Five if you count the three years we'll be messing around behind your back."

"Messing around behind my ...?!!" 

"I hope you're not the kind of guy who likes to do things around the house. Because I'm so lazy I can't be counted on to flush the toilet, let alone put the toilet seat down."

"No, I like to do lots of ..."

"And what about Mudbone? I hope you make First Wife take care of him because he's always throwing up around leather and the only thing that mutt is good for is humping your leg!" 

"No, no, I love taking care of ..."

"Well, cut it out! You should think about me, and all the other husbands after me!"

"Husbands after you?!  How many are there?"

"Who knows? You know how relationships go these days, First Husband."

"I don't get it. Why would she ever dump me for you?"

"I should think you wouldn't have to ask that.  I have a lot of Italian blood."

"You're crazy!  Honey, let's get out of here!"

"Bye, Future Wife!"

"Don't talk to him, honey. Roll up the window!"

"Bye, Future House. Bye, Future Huge Chunk of First Husband's 401 (k) Account.  Bye Future Prestigious Country Club Membership First Husband Can No Longer Afford."

"Shut up!!  Leave us alone!!!"

"Oh, I forgot. There's one more thing."

"What's that?"

"Bye, Future Car."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Now I, Mudbone, am the star of two Audi Commercials!

Car Talk (FF)

                                                                  Copyright – Jean L. Hays    

"Wonder why we haven't seen Little Jimmy lately, Dumpy,"said the wrecked red car.

"Because Little Jimmy grew up, Wrecky," said the dump truck. "Moved away and started his own family."

"What’ll become of us?"

"I've heard something about us leaving.  Jimmy's Mom’s probably going to donate us to charity so another little boy can play with us."

"Whaat?!! But what if he's a big fat kid who sits on us? Or some sweaty kid who never showers?  OMG, what if he does you-know-what right in front of us?!!!

"Don't make me barf, Wrecky."

"Oh, no, here comes Jimmy's Mom!" 

"Wait!  It's not Jimmy's Mom.  It's Jimmy!   I think I know what’s happening.”

"What, Dumpy?"

"We're not being donated.  Jimmy's taking us home.... so his little boy can play with us."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I decided to go for the heartwarming touch at the end --- even though I feel like I've seen this theme done before --- to disguise the fact that I completely desecrated the prescribed Friday Fictioneers guideline of 100 words by 30% or more. So sue me.

I was never a fan of the NPR program Car Talk, but my blogpost title today can serve the double purpose of also standing as an unoffficial tribute to Tom Magliozzi, the Car Talk brother who just passed away.  I admired their enthusiasm, even if I found them kind of annoying.

Never annoying are the other Friday Fictioneers, whose heart-warming works can be found by clicking here.

You Can't Beat Camry Camaraderie

I drive one of these.  As do you ... and you ... and you ... and you, too ... and... 

Like many of you, I drive a Toyota Camry.   It is probably the most common car on the road today, and most of us who have them like them very much.   Most of us who have them also feel that as drivers of the most common car on the road today we are each of us about as unique and individual as a painting  by Thomas Kinkade.

Now not only do I drive a Camry, I drive what has to be one of the most popular models of Camry ever: a late model dark gray Camry LE.  Just go out riding and look for one of these and if it takes you more than three minutes to spot one you are never going to be on my team in a treasure hunt, of that you can be sure!

It occurred to me recently that perhaps someone might develop a trend or a meme in our very culture to make we Camry drivers feel a little more special. What if there were an implicit understanding that all Camry drivers would hale one another whenever encountering a brother or sister?  This would create a immediate bond, providing Camry owners with the sense of belonging  to a very special private club of middle income folks with limited style and very limited cool. 

We would be just like the freemasons, only without the secret plan to take over the world.

So I set out yesterday to begin reshaping the very culture of the United States as we know it, just after whizzing, zipping up, and heading out of the can.  I wasn't driving very long before there came from the opposite direction ... yes, indeed it was ... a late model dark gray Camry LE!

I honked my horn.  I waved enthusiastically.  I waved  vigorously. I waved as if I were waving to Granny Clampett from the Beverly Hillbillies. 

And I got the driver's attention!  He rolled down his window.  What's that he was saying?

"I'm a mother ... what?"   I should eat your ....what?   I'm a piece of .... hey, I heard that!"  

Seems I may have mis-communicated. My fellow Camry driver somehow  thought I was either critiquing his driving or commenting on how his mother came to be the talk of the Eighth Fleet during the Korean War.

Well, off for Culture Change Attempt No. 2

Turning into the mall, I spotted yet another late model dark gray Camry LE with a distinguished looking gentleman at the helm.  This time I chose  a more graceful approach with a soft thumbs up and a bright smile.  And the gentlemen indeed saw me and promptly rolled down his window.

"My place is just a half a mile down the road,"  he said.  "Meet you there in ten minutes."

Gee, I wondered "wouldn't a gay guy have picked a brighter color than dark gray?  I wonder if he's since rethought that?"

Well, on to one more.

And there she was:  a very attractive young woman, but not so young as to be completely out of my age range, that is, as long as my age range is being defined as somewhere between 40 and breathing.   She pulled alongside me as I parked in the mall.   This time I tried calling out:

"Hello, Miss!  We have much in common, do we not?"

"Yes, we do, brother," she shouted,  "we have  250 years of capitalist exploitation in common!  Free everybody everywhere!"

Odd. She hadn't affixed the requisite 500 bumper stickers to the back of her Camry with everything from Don't Eat Grapes to Ask Me About My Grandchildren Who Are Socialist Revolutionaries.  I guess even she realized a late model dark gray Camry LE just wouldn't support all that revolutionary fervour.

And so, three up, three down.  I had failed to create a cultural meme. Nobody was interested in the idea of a special club for drivers of an unspecial but highly efficient and very pleasing automobile. I guess Camry drivers  are quite secure in their own middle-of-the-road middle-of the-roadness after all.  

And I guess I am too.  

But I'm still feelin' the love, brothers and sisters.  You just can't beat Camry Camaraderie!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Plethora of Potholes

The snow is finally subsiding in the east and the winter of our discontent is coming to a close. As blankets of white recede across this blizzard besieged section of the country, grass, trees, and bushes are at long last re-emerging from once frozen tundra.

Along with potholes.  

Lotsa potholes.

Potholes the size of a coke fiend's nostrils.  Potholes bigger than Ted Nugent's mouth. 
Potholes that make even a trip around the block a potential Journey to the Center of the Earth! 

Why are there so many potholes at the end of a long hard winter?  It probably has something to do with snow seeping into the asphalt, freezing, then cracking the road surface as if it were a lobster dinner.  But I believe there is another reason. 

It is Nature's way of saying it's not done fucking with us.

"Look out!" screams every passenger in every motor vehicle everywhere from Maine to Maryland.  "Veer right! Veer left!  OMG, up ahead! It's the Godzilla of Potholes!"

Neighborhood roadways have now become minefields.  The potholes are so plentiful that trying to get from Point A to Point B is like traversing a giant Connect-a-Dots.  New potholes seem to form every day, many of them tucked away just so that they're impossible to spot until ...

THUMMMPPP!

you're in 'em!

Front end alignment?  It's now your rear end alignment.  Nice new set of tires?  Well, one out of four ain't bad.  Your GPS will pull you through?  Funny, I've never heard an electronic device use that many four letter words that rapidly without exploding!

I hate to say it, but it's getting so you can't even text and drive anymore!

Look out!" screams every passenger in every motor vehicle everywhere from Maine to Maryland from now until about mid-summer, when all the potholes are finally fixed.

There's only one conceivable good thing about our plethora of potholes. 

Maybe it can teach us something.

Maybe all that snow and ice wasn't so bad after all.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A Car Like None (Every) Other

A Car Like None (Every) Other
My Late Model Dark Gray Toyota Camry

I am fated forever to drive the same car that is routinely driven by little old men in felt hats and exasperated middle-aged housewives with too many kids squirming vigorously and uncontrollably about the front and rear seats. 

There's no question about it:  automobile dealers must have a policy to routinely dispense big discounts for these vehicles to every little old guy and harassed housewife immediately upon their entrance into dealer showroom or used car lot.

And upon my entrance too.

But it isn't just folks like these and me who drive this car.  Everyone drives it!

Everyone. 

You probably drive one too! 

But despite its plain vanilla reputation, I love my late model dark gray Toyota Camry.   It's a lot of car for the money, has a cool bluetooth feature that makes your cell-phone hands-free, and doesn't even look all that bland and insipid. Notice I said all that bland and insipid!

But there is a problem.

Because everyone in America under a certain income level owns a late model dark gray Toyota Camry,  it is impossible to find yours in a parking lot unless you are one of that rare breed of persons who actually pays attention to where you left it.  In any given lot on any given day at any given hour, you could play connect-a-dots with all the late model dark gray Toyota Camrys and come up with a fascinating abstract shape, if not actually a shape that exists in the tangible world. 

I am frequently at a loss in attempting to locate my car amongst a sea of late model dark gray Toyota Camrys, daily experiencing embarrassing incidents such as:

"I'm hitting my remote, why isn't the door opening?  Oh, that's not my car; that's right, I don't keep Nazi memorabilia in the back seat."

"Sorry to crash my shopping cart into yours, miss!  I thought I had opened my trunk just when you were opening yours..."

"Geez, I'm sorry, sir!  Thought this was my late model dark gray Toyota Camry. I didn't mean to get in your car and sit on your lap."  

I know what's coming next.  The ultimate embarassing incident: 

"Yes, Yes, Oh, Yes .... Oh, Oh ... you're the best!.... More! .... More! ....  WHO THE HELL IS THAT?!!!"

"Gee, I'm sorry, you two.   Name's Perry.  I thought this was my car."

"That's okay, buddy.  Happens to me all the time too.   Now, if you don't mind?" 

Which gives me an idea.  Now I can always find my late model dark gray Toyota Camry in any lot in the country. I made and affixed my own sticker for the rear window which reads: 

 Hot Sex
On Board

It isn't true of course, but now nobody --- including little old men in felt hats and harassed housewives --- is ever going to mistake my late model dark gray Toyota Camry for their own.

I hope.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My Off-Brand GPS

The Voice behind my GPS --- NOT!

I'd never purchased a GPS in all these years since they've had them, dual reasons being I don't generally go anywhere I might get lost and I'm penurious, a euphemism for expressing the fact that I'll bend over to pick up nickels off the sidewalk, if not pennies themselves.

However, of late I'd begun to perceive the value of regularly hearing a pleasant female voice speaking directly to me, a rare enough occurrence in my life.  I found myself frequently using the self check out lines at the supermarket just so I could hear a sultry young woman tell me to "press enter" and then thank me for bagging!

I could just imagine hearing that warm soothing voice talking to me day in and day out, guiding me through life, speaking to me and me alone: 

Perry, that was a masterful and assured parallel parking job!  

Perry, look how long and straight you drove down that hard road, just like I asked you to!

Perry, you are my auto-erotic hero!

So I went out the other day and bought me a GPS.  There's only one problem;  my frugality won out, and I bought myself an Off-Brand GPS. 

"Now, Little GPS," I said as the two of us left the store, "kindly direct me to 489 North Cavendish Street."

"North Cavendish Street?" replied the Little GPS. "That's not such a nice neighborhood, I don't think we should go there."

"Where's your sultry pleasant voice, Little GPS?" I asked. "You sound like actress Fran Drescher from The Nanny!"

"You bought an Off-Brand GPS, sir.  You get what you pay for."

"Alright, but please give me the directions to 489 North Cavendish Street."

"Drive straight for three blocks, then make a left on Buchanan Street. Take that down to Malloy Street and make a right."

"Thank you, Little GPS. Now we're getting somewhere." 

"Then proceed about 100 yards and stop to ask directions from the old guy in the stained blue windbreaker."

"What?! Ask directions? That's what you're for!"

"You bought an Off-Brand GPS, sir.  You get what you pay for."

And so it was for the next several days. The Little GPS was generally disagreeable and almost always unhelpful. Finally it reached a breaking point.

"Little GPS, you've gotten us good and lost!"

"We're not lost at all!  Say,  got a quarter?  Call it in the air:  heads we go left, tails we go right."

"Call it in the air, heads we go .... this is ridiculous!"

"You bought an Off-Brand GPS, sir.  You get ...."

"Don't say that anymore!"

"Well, I say YOU got US lost.  You're the one with the reputation for screwing up!" 

That was it!  Bargain or no bargain, the Little GPS was getting returned!  Fortunately on my way back to the store I found a half dozen pennies on the sidewalk.  Well, this time around I bought myself a Premium GPS featuring the voice of Scarlett Johansson.  I don't even care if it gives decent directions.  

Frankly I don't take it out of the house ...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Captain Cautious Gets a Ding

Ah, for those carefree Dingless Days! 

I recently put a small ding in my one year old Toyota Camry. It's a bit of a blow for the man they now call Captain Cautious because of his "scrupulous to the point of wimp-like" driving due to the accident which precipitated purchase of the new car.

The Ding isn't that big, only about 1/4 of an inch long and not deep.  After all, that's why it's called a "ding." It's on the left front side panel of the car,  and most people couldn't find the Ding unless guided to it by Sacajawea.

But the Ding mocks and haunts me.  Day and night it calls out to me :

"DING! DING! DING, PERRY!  I am the DING you so carelessly and recklessly put in your almost brand new motor vehicle.  Loser, can't you keep anything nice? DING! DING! DING!"

Every morning the Ding greets me as if I were an old friend. Or more likely, an old enemy:

"DING! DING! DING! Good morning, Perry.  Hope you haven't forgotten me, your DING!  I can't believe you inflicted me upon your new Camry, the most trusted mid-size in America!  DING! DING! DING!"

As I drive away from my home, the Ding does not let up.  It holds forth with a glowing account of my complete and total driving ineptitude:

"DING! DING! DING!  Hello, Delaware Valley Drivers, one and all! I am the DING that the hapless driver behind the wheel imposed upon this virtually new but ill-fated Camry.  Avoid this idiot if you value your lives! DING!  DING!  DING!"

Now the Ding is intensifying, throbbing, growing ... it is two inches long and deep as a ditch ... three inches long and deeper than a crater ... 110 inches long and the Grand Canyon!!!  And now it resounds with a new voice, as though it is a schoolteacher on meth ringing the bell to call very tardy fifth graders to class: 

"DING DONG!  DING DONG!  DING DONG! 

Loser, Idiot, Douche Bag! 

DING DONG!  DING DONG!  DING DONG! " 

I round a corner trying to flee but it is no use.  I still hear the hideous Dinging of The Tell-Tale Ding!

"DING! DING! DING!  A new Hyundai and you, young lady, smash the hell out of the left side door panel!  You don't deserve the second most trusted mid-size in America!  DING! DING! DING!" 

Why, that wasn't for me .... no, coming my way is a light blue Sonata with a small ding in the side, being driven by a nervous looking young woman.  

 "DING DONG!  DING DONG!  DING DONG!" cries my Ding.

"DING! DING! DING!" screams hers.  

I wipe my brow and muster a smile, and she looks over and smiles back.  And suddenly all is silent. 

"Guess you and I need to fix these dings ASAP," I call to her.

"Maybe better we fix our heads first," she calls back.

I am not alone, and neither is she.  We are brothers. 

Brothers Under the Ding. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Captain Cautious Buys A Car

Perry!!! Have I got a car for you!

It was time.   My Uncool Car was but a memory.  It had been felled by an automobile mishap, the unfortunate experience of which had turned me into Captain Cautious Behind the Wheel.

But it wasn't the heavy-handed plugging of two previous blog posts nobody's going to read anyway that caused me to put off purchasing a replacement vehicle.  It was something else,  something far less annoying for you but far more troubling for me.

I have no sales resistance.    NONE!

Want Proof?  

~ I'm still receiving the last year and a half of my subscription to the newsletter  Minister Farrakhan Speaks Out On Why He Hates You.  But I am thinking of not renewing ...

~ I purchased 6,000 acres of real estate sight unseen on the recommendation of  former presidential candidate Newt Gingrich.  It was only later I heard of his plans to colonize Mars. 

~ I invested in a play called Springtime for Hitler.  Actually, oddly enough,  that investment turned out pretty well.

Why do I succumb so readily to sales pressure?   Maybe it's because I fall for every aggressive salesperson's trick in the book.

1) If the salesperson is friendly and seems to like me, I want to please them!   And if I've made an age-related comment in the time I've been with them,  just let them say "I don't believe it, you look great!" and watch them hit sales quota for the month,  even if it's June 2nd.   And for the next month too.

2) If the salesperson is not that friendly and ignores me, I want to please them!  "If I can't even get sales people not to hate me," I think  "no wonder I can't get any dates!" 

3) So, the very special once-in-a-lifetime discount price expires in 15 minutes?  Who'd believe that nonsense?   Me.  I rush to sign the papers like I'm on Minute to Win It!

4) The salesperson aggressively pushes me for a yes or no answer?  Everybody knows that's the time to firmly say "no" and walk away!  I firmly say "yes," as do my firmly planted "yes-affirming" feet.  

But not this time!  This time I'll be prepared.  This time I won't succumb.

I studied up on cars.  I listened to those Car Talk guys on NPR.  I'll probably never again contribute to NPR, but I listened to the those Car Talk guys on NPR.

I practiced my sales resistance in the mirror:  "No, that's way too much!"  "Sorry, not interested!" "Yes or no? Then the answer is a big fat NO, you big fat douchebag!"

I knew I was ready.  

I entered the dealership prepared for battle.  I asked to see a sales person.  That sales person approached.

A very attractive young person of the female persuasion! 

"Before we get started," I blurted out "I'm prepared for you! I know that: 

•  these cars are in demand because Car &  Cool Guy Magazine called  them the Best Glove Compartment in Mid-Class Hybrids,  
• everyone takes Option Group 4A  because leather makes a statement, 
• your unbelievably low pricing is good for Tonight Only!,  and
•  Throw in floor mats?! Throw in floor mats?!!  Your Sales Manager will never let you throw in floor mats,  but if I'm ready to buy RIGHT NOW, you'll do EVERYTHING YOU POSSIBLY CAN TO GET HIM TO THROW IN FLOOR MATS!"

I paused.   She didn't say a word.

"And you're going to act like you like me, I'll want to please you, and then I'll buy a car this very evening and overpay considerably for it.  But at least I can go home in my lovely new car and freely fantasize about having sex with you later."

She nodded emphatically.  

''All right," I said. "I'll take ... whatever."  

I picked out the car I wanted, I had a fine sales experience, and a fine fantasy later.

By the way, I really do like my new car.  There it is below.  

I still have no sales resistance.   But I do have floor mats!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zoom-Zoom 

(Note: Lake & mountains in back shown

 to make my life appear more appealing than it is.)

My Uncool Car

Not My Uncool Car,

 But An Uncool Reasonable Facsimile Thereof

It was dead and gone all right, My Uncool Car.

Victim of a traffic accident,  it sat there inert, its right front hood and side smashed in as if hit by a giant meteor, its right front headlight so demolished the car looked like it was winking at me.   

Which was somewhat disquieting,  because no one has winked at me in this century.  My hope had been that when I'd finally be winked it, it would be by other than My Uncool Car.

My Uncool Car would never have been considered to be hip even when I bought it, but it at least possessed a well-earned sense of respectability.   Over the ten years or so that we were together, however, it had made the gradual but inevitable descent from credible but boring to the vehicular status of lime-green leisure suit.  

Except, of course, it wasn't lime-green.

You've seen My Uncool Car many times, I'm quite certain.  It  was a 2001 Toyota Camry LE in that pale coffee color that was quite popular back in that day.  Nowadays it is driven mostly by:

1) Eighty-five plus year old men and women, often wearing hats

2) Exasperated women with a car full of small children, all of whom are unruly, and 

3) Me

We drivers of these uncool cars hang on to them because they are reliable and if properly maintained can be driven to neighboring star systems and back.  And we drivers of these uncool cars tend not to fix body damage to them because it seems foolish to spend money on aesthetics for a car most folks view as omnipresent representatives of the precise and insightful dictionary definition of the very word "LAME-O" itself. 

My Uncool Car had all the trappings of its iconic kind.  The exterior was graced with banged and bruised sides and fenders,  scraped hubcaps,  gashed tires,  and  an artless attempt at front fender repair with touch-up paint of garishly wrong hue.   Inside were coffee stains, coke stains, and crumbs of virtually every type of fast food ever enjoyed in America.  

Frankly I never much minded climbing behind the wheel of My Uncool Car, despite the fact that the only stares it ever received were stares of derision.  And indeed sometimes I'd even receive a  thumbs up from a fellow uncool car driver,  most frequently from one who amazed me that he had  sufficient thumb strength to make the gesture at all. 

But all in all I tended to the road,  set my social rank on declasse, and got where I was going.

Except when parking in a lot. There,  in the off-chance that I might be spotted  by someone of attractive feminine gender, I'd search diligently to park next to a car that might somehow comparatively make My Uncool Car actually appear vaguely cool.  As difficult a task as this routinely was,  once I did indeed strike pay dirt, locating a spot between a 1995 chartreuse Dodge Neon with a taped up left rear window and a battered gray Chevy Impala with paint job by Bill Murray's dermatologist. 

Sadly,  when I returned from my errands,  the dynamic had been irreparably altered.  I was now fully ensconced between a late model Lexus LS-460 and a  2012 Mercedes CL Sedan. 

"Look at that old bald loser, Mommy!"  shouted out a small child as I opened the door to My Uncool Car.  As the mom tried desperately to shush him, he went on: "Know how I know he's a loser?  He's driving one of those uncool pale coffee color 2001 Camry LE's!"

"So what?" said the mom.

"It's an onnipresent representative of the precise and insightful dictionary definition of the very word "LAME-O" itself, Mommy!" he added.

A wise child indeed.

Although I can't say I loved driving about in a car that screamed "Interested in meeting somebody new?  Move on!," there was a  certain comfort behind the wheel of My Uncool Car.  We knew each other well.  There were never any surprises. There were no expectations.  

Now My Uncool Car is being hauled away to an unmarked auto yard where its parts will be disassembled and no doubt distributed to a multiplicity of  uncool cars driven by a multiplicity of uncool drivers. 

Good bye, My Uncool Car!   Rest in Peace. 

Now I'll begin looking for another car.   Doubtless it will be newer, cleaner, faster, better smelling,  and fully free of garishly incorrect touch-up paint.  

But with any luck, it will be every bit as uncool.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Captain Cautious Behind the Wheel

                                             

No more for me.  I'm Captain Cautious!

I recently had a minor automobile accident while driving not so far from my home. It was "minor" in that I'm still breathing.  It was "accident" in that my car is not.

Something happens to you after an automobile accident,  aside from the urge to fake whiplash and find a lawyer with the cheapest looking ad in the Yellow Pages. You begin to think you ought to be more careful, take driving more seriously, actually pay attention to the speed limits while you're blithely exceeding them.  

My car had paid the ultimate price.   It was a tearful moment when I emptied out the glove compartment, trunk, and beer cans and unused condoms from the back seat.   "Goodbye, Old Paint!"  I called out.  Which in this case was literally true since the exterior of my 2001 vehicle looked like it had been originally painted by whoever Tom Sawyer had been able to con into doing the job in the 1870's.

Taking to the road  in my rental car on the way home, I noted that the posted speed limit was 25 mph,  so I slowed to that speed.  Before long came the realization that traveling at this sane, reasonable, and legal rate of speed  feels like going backwards!  Instead of moving toward my destination,  I was in fact losing ground. Given enough time, I'd find myself in the Atlantic Ocean.  

Who sets these speed limits, the guy who actually drives your father's Oldsmobile?

But nonetheless, at that very moment I made a commitment.   I would become Captain Cautious Behind the Wheel!

I would never again speed to get through a yellow light unless I was being chased by Nazis.   I would become so attuned to the fact that objects in my right hand side mirror are closer than they appear that I would actually write that very phrase upon the mirror! I would brake for animals and sometimes even for people too.

I would become one with the road. Why not?  I'm not dating anyone else! 

Now when I approach a stop sign,  I slow to a stop ten feet behind the sign. Then I inch forward and stop dead directly in line with the sign.

~I look right.  I look left.  I look up.  I look down.

~I look 360 degrees all about me.  This is a feat that has not been otherwise successfully achieved since actress Linda Blair in The Exorcist in 1973.  

~I listen for traffic reports on the twos at KYW Newsradio 1060 in Philadelphia to learn of any nearby advancing motor vehicles,  nearby being defined as anywhere in the tri-state area.   

~I grow old.  I die, Horatio.

Other drivers are beginning to recognize and salute the commitment of Captain Cautious.  Whenever I am driving down a two lane road scrupulously observing the speed limit, a long line of cars forms behind me in tribute. Some drivers even sound their horns in my honor. When the lanes of travel widen, many that pass me give me the thumbs up sign as they drive by!

At least I believe it is the thumbs up sign. 

I'd love for you to come driving with me some day if you have nothing to do and a whole lot of patience.  For you see ...

I am now Captain Cautious Behind the Wheel, role model for one and all!

I am also one big pain in the ass.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~