I spend a lot of time as a pedestrian. I drive sometimes, though rarely these days. I don’t have a car of my own any more, I sold it. Sometimes I miss my car. It felt good to sit in it, knowing it was mine. It gave me freedom until I moved to New York, then it became more of a ball and chain. (Though, for that year in which I both had a car and lived in New York, I still felt good sitting in it.) Now that I don’t drive, I hate your car.
Americans love cars. I watched this video the other day about how our love of cars ruined our perfectly good public transportation system. We were tricked into thinking cars would set us free from the burden of the streetcar! It’s pretty sad but I get it. Don’t let my understanding of this fool you, I hate your car.
The other day I was walking down the street in Brooklyn, home of the worst drivers I know of—let’s just say they are like Manhattan drivers but without as many pesky people slowing them down. I was walking on the sidewalk in front of the parking lot of a supermarket. The person walking in front of me decided act politely to a car. Traitor.
The car was waiting in the street to turn into the parking lot. The person in front of me waved the car along, signaling to everyone that they were in charge of who could walk down the sidewalk like a troll keeping people from crossing a bridge. These kinds of people disgust me. That car does not need your help. The car can sit there and wait with its climate controlled air, roof over their head, and comfy seats. I’m outside, with just the comforts on my back! I hate your car.
You’ll never guess what happens next. I continue walking down the sidewalk and there’s a car, stopped, sitting in the parking lot about 10 feet from me. I keep walking and the car starts to move. I had my eye on the car, unsure if it was going to stop just before me or keep going. I quickly have to pause as the car does not stop and drives past me with about 4 inches to spare. At this point, I go into a blind fury and uncontrollably give the car a slap. This might seem rash but I was no longer in control of my limbs. This car had threatened my life.
The driver stopped his car in the middle of the road, got half-way out to yell at me, but to his surprise, it was I who yelled first. “What are you, trying to hit me?” I shouted!
He said back to me, “Yeah!”
I hate your car.
