“The Fine Print”, by M.H.
Schrader
Thanks, Sammy!
Have you noticed how it seems that
drivers are getting worse and worse lately?
Well, you may not have, but I have.
And I don’t like it, either. I
like my life, and I don’t really care to see it end prematurely because of some
idiot who doesn’t know how to drive.
Of course, older drivers blame younger
drivers. “Those darned kids! They drive too fast!”
And, naturally, younger drivers blame
older drivers. “Come on, get out of the
way you blue-haired granny! You’re
blocking traffic driving so pokey!”
Actually, what is probably said nine
times out of ten is said in language so blue that it cannot be published in a
family newspaper. (Want to know? Go to the nearest junior high school.)
Now let me say that while I am definitely
not an old codger, I am also not a kid, either. But if I had to take sides, I would agree with the blue-hairs
that younger drivers really don’t know how to drive.
Mrs. Schrader was backing the van out of
the driveway the other morning and was almost rear-ended by one of our
neighbors, who you guessed it, is still in high school. (Let me backtrack a second here--my house is
located at a “T” intersection, and our driveway lines up with the leg of the
“T”.) Not only that, this young-un had
the audacity to--you ready?--honk at Mrs. Schrader as she sped past. That’s right--sped. Stop?
You’ve got to be kidding. Young
people seem to be in just too much of a hurry these days to stop for
anything. (Why? I dunno!)
Even a van.
Now of course, if Mrs. Schrader was
driving a Yugo, yes, I could concede that it would be possible to not see
it. But it’s a van! And not only a van, but a BIG full size conversion
van! Driving the thing is like driving
a bus---it’s big. How in the world
could you miss it?
Of course, I’ve been somewhat mulling
over these things the past few days.
Then--Kapow!--it hit me! The
answer that I was seeking. Yes indeedy,
now, definitely, I can say, without a shadow of a doubt (okay, maybe some
shadow) that there is a definitive cause as to why young people drive so darned
fast. Blame it on Sammy Hagar.
Around 1984, Sammy Hagar (yes, the same
one, but before he became the lead singer of Van Halen--ask your local
teenager) wrote a song called “I Can’t Drive 55” which was basically 3 plus
minutes of whining about why he couldn’t drive as fast as he wanted to. For those of you just getting your licenses
(children of the 80s--oh my!), at one time the maximum speed limit anywhere in
the United States was 55, whether in the city or the country, on a two-lane
road or a freeway. None of this 65
stuff, just 55 everywhere. Wouldn’t you
know it? In 1987, the maximum speed
limit was raised to 65. Was this
just coincidence or was Ronald Reagan a huge Sammy Hagar fan? He was a Hollywood type, after all. Hmmm....
This year, 1987, was also around the time
that Route 66 was officially retired, although it still lives on in our
hearts. (For those who are too young to
remember, ask any older person about Route 66.) It was retired because it had finally been superseded by the
Interstates. Which of course means that
you can now drive across the country quickly and without impediments like
having to stop for traffic signals in the middle of an Illinois cornfield.
You had to be careful when driving Route
66. You see, at any time, Farmer Joe
could pull his combine out from the field right in front of you, causing you to
slam on your brakes to avoid becoming mixed with the ingredients for the next
loaf of Colonial bread. Or you had to
swerve across the yellow line into oncoming traffic to avoid hitting the car
parked in front of the roadside stand that didn’t quite get all the way onto
the shoulder.
Basically, then, every driver under the
age of 26 has never had to drive slow.
And it shows. Speed is
everywhere.
It’s one thing to go 70 on a rural
freeway. I must admit, I maximize the
speed limit to the best of my ability.
It’s quite another to turn my quiet residential street into the
Indianapolis Speedway. After all, my
front yard does not connect with the freeway.
I don’t have to worry about my cats and kids getting run over on the
freeway. I don’t have to worry about
Mrs. Schrader getting rear-ended while backing out the van on the freeway.
I have come up with several methods of
dealing with speeders on my street. One
involves me standing in my yard, holding some sort of lawn and garden tool, and
yelling at speeding motorists. Of course,
its effectiveness is limited, as I just can’t quite run fast enough to catch
up. But hey, it sure is fun.
I have finally figured out why all of my
neighbors insist on walking their dogs down the middle of the street. No, it’s not because of the lack of
sidewalks. No, it’s not because the
street is the only place with a modicum of light at night. It’s a great way to reduce speeding (not to
mention preventing turning your neighbors’ yards into doggie “porta-potties”).
I would like to believe the scowl I wear
when people come ripping up the street causes them to slow down. But, I must concede, it’s probably due to
the looks of my dog. One semi-intoxicated
fellow, upon seeing my dog, hollered something about him being a wolf. I guess I would be intimidated, too, seeing
some guy walking a wolf down the street.
So, if you don’t want to have some crazy
man running after you with a rake in one hand and a wolf in the other, do your
speeding out on the speedway and not on residential streets, okay?
What haveth you wrought, Sammy Hagar?