Many of the posts on this thread deal with experiences and observations of the motoring public’s behaviour. I believe we have barely scratched the surface of this rich material for writing rants.
In my previous post, I listed a few habits of my fellow motorists. Now I’ll try to add a few more.
Maximum speed posted . . .
On many of our roads, the speed is posted with signs that read “Maximum 80.” It appears that many drivers do not understand the word “Maximum.” “Maximum” means that unless there is some valid reason, no traffic should move any slower than one and one half times the indicated speed. Valid reasons for poking along at the posted speed include fog, ice, radar, nudists, and yard sales.
Speaking of speed limits, it’s a well established fact that it isn’t so much the speed of traffic that reduces safety, as much as the difference in speed among vehicles. Speed limits are set artificially low for two main reasons: fuel conservation, and revenue.
Most will agree that at lower speeds, vehicles burn less fuel. The trouble is, people willingly trade time for money. Drive a little faster, save a little time, and spend a little more at the pump. Observe traffic for a short while and one conclusion becomes inescapable: most people drive well above the posted limits. They are making their choice, and they are choosing to trade money for time.
Speed limits are set low to maximise revenue. Capturing speeders is profitable immediately for the law enforcement agencies. Insurance companies continue to enjoy a windfall for years afterward.
Here’s how to set speed limits properly. First, take down the existing signs. Next, monitor the speed of the traffic. Once we know how fast people are actually driving on this particular stretch of road, post this speed as the new limit. Take the decision making power out of the hands of bureaucrats and put it into the hands (or right foot) of the people who actually use the road.
The horny . . .
Drag strips have a system for enabling drivers to know just when they should get moving. It’s a series of lights nicknamed a “Christmas Tree”, and works by illuminating a series of yellow lights, ending with a green light. The lights are timed so racers can anticipate the green. Races are won by a fraction of a second. Some drivers think that traffic lights exist for the same purpose. They must have their hand on the horn button with their arm muscles under tension. When the light turns green, they honk the horn instantly.
It’s easy to destroy the horn blower’s fun. While waiting for the next light, put your car in reverse. When they see your back-up lights come on, they honk early. Ignore the honking. As time passes and the appearance of the green light becomes more likely, and they realise their horn blowing isn’t proving effective, their discomfort increases. (Make sure you remember to shift into Drive when the light turns green.)
Speaking of horn honking, how about those morons who honk at YOU when your progress is blocked. What do they expect you to do - - make the truck in front disappear?
Wide, wide, turns . . .
And speaking of trucks, I’m amused by those people who drive their cars as if it was an eighteen wheeler. You know the type. They’re driving a little compact car and to turn right, they first turn into the left lane. So you’re following the guy, he puts on his right signal and pulls to the left. Now what? Is he turning left or right? You cannot pass, because you don’t know his intentions.
Oil of Olay . . .
A relative of the driver of the eighteen wheeler compact car is the guy who signals to go one way and actually turns the other. I call these guys Oil of Olay drivers. You remember the TV commercials for Oil of Olay -- the catch phrase was “Keep them guessing.”
Peek-a-Boo . . .
In winter, we get guys who are too lazy to clean their car windows. They clear a spot about the size of a cell phone just in front of their nose. With this near zero visibility, they venture onto the road. With coffee cup in one hand, cigarette in the other, they steer with their knees as they peek through their “porthole.” Pity anyone around them, because the snow blows off their car and melts on other’s windows. Not that they can see anything anyway, with the cloud of snow in the air.
Strrrrrrrretch . . .
I pull into a self-serve filling station, and stop beside an unused premium pump. I get out, and discover that the idiot next to the regular pump has taken the premium hose and stretched it over to his car. My choices are two: wait for him or move to another pump. If I move, he finishes in a second and my move was unnecessary. If I wait, he buys 10,000 gallons, checks the oil, cleans every window (inside and out) and drops his keys in the snow. I can’t win.
Gender . . .
Anyone notice how I use he, him, and his, but not she, her, and hers?
Farding . . .
People who fard in their cars. Safe driving requires concentration. Fard at home.
Feet . . .
I find it distracting when a car goes by with a foot sticking out through an open window. Visions of air-bag deployment dance in my head. I doubt a bumble-bee stuck between the toes brings much pleasure either.
Second Amendment . . .
People who think they have a right to possess a gun because of a few words in the Constitution. (Just kidding! This is a long message, most readers are probably dozing off by now, and in fairness to the next poster, I want to get them wide awake before they move on.)
Cheers, PW.
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