From the slow lane …
When shocks and struts start to fail, a simple bump turns into a dangerously creepy water bed on wheels of motion causing back and forth rolling through the peaks and valleys of the pocked marked highway.
With trepidation, anxiety and little bit of excitement I watched in earnest as the mechanically ailing box of death came slowly and unsystematically bouncing ever so closer to me through my rear view mirror.
Move over or get out of the their way, that is the question. I have no pride when it comes to the commute. You can pass me, my masculinity intact. Or you can try to pass me, me testing yours. My decision for either option is as random as the weather.
Today I decided to test their fate, their ability and chance of testosterone fueled competition when I saw the blue dangly wheel chaired stamped placard swaying violently too and fro in their rear view mirror and its captain, and I am being nice here, pleasantly obese, unshaven mouth breather.
My catalyst is usually the same. My vehicle has state of the art air bags, sensors and crumple zones. I paid for it, a part of me wants to test it out, to get my monies worth as it were. Don’t get me wrong, I wish no ill or harm of these pedestrian minded commuters who barely recognize their fellow traveler as human. However, if one is willing to drive a vehicle whose maintenance and upkeep is blatantly evident, and apparently undeterred in putting their occupants as risk … I will always put my needs ahead of theirs on the off chance physics is put to the test, my vessel will keep me safe, and their death trap will help thin the herd.
Unrelated to today, but a bit of what I described from a previous commute that I happened to roll into.
ericisnaked.com 