One of the infinite number of major issues facing the candidates in this 2008 election year is that of satisfying octogenarians who (1) vote and (2) demand pensions to pay for their monthly Metamucil bill. Like it or not, chaps named “Bill” and “Merv” and gals named “Myrtle” and “Marge” represent a massive voting block that the candidates better not ignore if they fear for their lives. Forget the African-American vote, forget the woman’s vote, forget any other vote: the senior citizen vote really counts.
Maybe I’m saying this because I live in the international hub of Perkin’s restaurants and funeral homes. I live in central Florida, famously known around the world as “Where America Goes To Die.” Sprawling 55+ housing developments with bocce courts and bowling alleys are a dime a dozen. If you have ever seen that Ron Howard movie Cocoon, then you know exactly which demographic I live amongst.
This has its perks and its cons. One of the perks is the superb network of authentic, shave-and-a-haircut barber shops where a man can talk about sports and politics with a guy named “Bob,” and not talk about hair products with a bloke named “Marcus” who likes to unbutton his shirt more than once. Another perk is the vast network of superb Italian eateries helmed by fast-talkin’ guys from New Jersey who pronounced New York as “New Yohrk”.
Yet the downsides of living here in AARPville generally outnumber the perks. The greatest downside by a mile is driving around here. Driving in Central Florida makes driving through the center of New Dehli look like a track day at Silverstone. No Floridian asphalt is sacred. Why is it so bad?
It is bad because, as a result of octogenarian motorists, traffic moves at a catastrophically slow and uneven pace. This conflicts violently with normal motorists who actually attempt to go the limit, and these radical differences in speed are incredibly dangerous. When one is attempting to merge onto a 70mph highway behind an early 90’s Buick Park Avenue doing 40mph, you immediately envision yourself neatly compressed on the front grill of a Peterbilt.
Frankly, if the people who consider themselves responsible for the safety of American motorists really wanted to cut down on the number of traffic fatalities, they should revoke the licenses of all those over the age of 80. Japan has already taken a less straightforward approach by offering the elderly cash incentives if they hand over their licenses. Unfortunately, Florida is light-years behind the current watershed of societal evolution, so such a brilliant idea would materialize down here as quickly as a mountain range.
Before I go anything further, I think it would be prudent to say I have enormous respect for those who have been on the planet longer than me. Some of the wittiest sound bites in the history of the spoken word have been told to me by old geezers. A classic was said after I questioned a chap about his broken headlamp. His response: “Well, this idiot in front of me wasn’t moving, so I gave him a push…” I know numerous retirees who are as sharp as tacks, and actually understand me when I talk. They actually drive Audis and Ford Edges, and realize that Gregory Peck has been dead for some time. But even they have no way of lightening the mood on a Floridian boulevard.
All this stink about hellish driving got me thinking about the different demographics of American motorist. Down here in the Sunshine State, there are mainly two groups that really stand out on the roads. There are the senior citizens trundling along in their Mercury Grand Marquis, and then there are Latinos pounding and bashing about in their matte-black Honda Civics with tinted windows and rims the size of a ferris wheel. This makes for a brutal combination. Sometimes you will get into a wreck on account of someone listening to Perry Como, and the next time it would be on account of Oye Coma Va. It’s unsavory.
Up north, in jolly olde New England, the drivers are maniacal, bastardly, and extraordinarily talented at being dexterously reckless. If I might use a nerd’s term: You can get easily “pwned” driving in places like Boston. Yet it is a fun and refreshing place to drive, because even though the motoring is dangerous and insane, you can succeed at it by just staying alert and waving a Patriots or Red Sox flag out your window. Apparently, Massachusetts is one of the few states that actually teaches driving students to give the middle finger as part of a complete driver’s education.
Next, it’s the deep fried South, where the main danger of motoring comes from gentlemen in early 80’s Ford and Chevy pickups with about 45 feet of ground clearance and a proud decal of the Stars and Bars on the rear window. These drivers will ignore your existence, except if you are driving something other than a pickup truck. In that case, you will probably have your first experience at seeing the Second Amendment in practice. If you ever happen to find yourself trapped in Georgia in a pink Toyota Yaris with a rainbow bumper sticker, I would suggest you purchase some Kevlar and then use as much of the trio of cylinders as possible to get to a major metropolitan area.
Then there’s California, where the traffic jam usually compensates for any high-speed danger that might be present. Of course, the only high-speed danger really ever present in California is the possibility of being in the path of a hijacked Cutlass or Escalade which has suddenly become the land rocket of choice for machine-gun toting joy-riders. In fact, most local television stations have specific time slots in the mornings and evenings which are dedicated to broadcasting the latest live car chase happening in the south of California at that moment. They are never wanton for content.
While most of these regions are particularly famous for certain aspects of dangerous motoring, the dangers of American tarmac can be summed up in the fact that America is a spicy and rich melting pot full of the best and worst of world motorists. We really do not have a definite driving style; the American motorist can be anybody. The Land of Opportunity is also the Land Where Anyone Can Drive. While this is obviously not a very comforting thought, it does mean that driving in this glorious country of ours is never ever boring. God Bless America.
1 Comment
April 8, 2008 at 7:16 am
I’d love to see a comparison of the stereotypical driving style of different countries. I envisage different categories such as:
trust in - God, road signs, immortality.
roads specialised in - mud track, pitted, cratered.
no-nos - stopping at red lights, giving way to donkeys, not accelerating at pedestrians.
particular quirks at night - after 8pm the rules change, you don’t stop at red lights, using headlights when there isn’t another car around is a waste of power (Turkey)
I hope I’m the only driver with a fascination for the differences in driving styles…
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