Newton was wrong. Sometimes two objects can occupy the same space.
I was assigned to write a humorous but warm article about Passover and Easter, what the holidays mean to us and some of their history and religious significance. So here it is: they are nice holidays, hug your family and friends and enjoy.
Now, I need to get something off my chest because I’m really tired of people trying to kill me on the road. I don’t believe anyone is after me personally, but I drive a really small, two-seat sports car in a country where it’s common to drive around in a vehicle big enough to take your entire living room with you. In fact, many modern cars, vans and SUV’s are equipped with more electronics and conveniences than the average American home.
If I want to watch tv, I stay home. If I want to read, I stay home. If I want to drink coffee, talk on the phone, text a friend, eat a hamburger, use a computer, clip my nails or put on makeup (well, that’s just to make a point) I park first. In a tiny sports car you cannot do any of those things while driving. All you can do is drive because the car demands your full attention.
When you look at a sports car in the showroom it’s all about glamour. Dealers hire attractive young women to sit in the passenger seat, with the top down, to give you an idea of what you’re supposedly buying into. Then they whisk you into a small theater room and show you a film of the car taking on the curves of a back country road in the fall, whizzing along a coast road with the sun setting in the background and, finally, parked with dozens of other sports cars at a vineyard where like-minded sports car owners are enjoying a $300 bottle of wine. Of course there is a leggy blonde in all the images as well. It has a certain appeal, you have to admit.
All these thoughts flashed through my head the other day as a pickup the size of the USS Enterprise decided it wanted to be in my lane. Without warning of any kind, and in total defiance of Newton’s law that two objects cannot occupy the same space at the same time, it swung directly toward me. I leaned on my pathetically wimpy little horn, which sounded like a goose protesting its turn at the dinner table, and headed for the side of the road. The pickup, figuring he could drive over top of me if he needed to, speeded up and zoomed on down the road. Later on I called my doctor and begged for a Xanax prescription.
Unfortunately this happens a lot, and not just in the south where it’s state law that you must own a vee-hickle the size of a battleship, wear a cap in restaurants and refer to your eleven children as “crumb snatchers.” In “sophisticated” New York City, having a license at all is strictly optional, and like their southern counterparts New Yorkers also love operating (driving is not an adequate description of how they use a vehicle) gargantuan SUV’s equipped with every option except turn signals. On most highways around the city the method of driving can be described as “point and shoot.” They see an opening in another lane, they gun the engine and head for it. If you happen to be in the way, too bad.
To be fair, my car is hard to see from a SUV that stands about 30 feet tall. Rearview mirrors on cars have the disclaimer, “Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear.” On SUV’s there is additional small print that says “If he’s stupid enough to drive a sports car then screw him.” Again, this is the kind of thing they don’t tell you at the dealer. They also don’t tell you that you can only put the top down for 15 minutes once or twice a year or risk skin cancer or lung cancer or both.
If you’re in a city with a sports car you have to dodge homicidal taxis or sit in traffic and suck fumes. This can get really uncomfortable when the 18-wheeler next to you decides to have some fun and rev his diesel engine. In the country you will be assaulted with suicidal bugs, gastrically distressed birds, dust, pollen and leaves from trees. You learn early on to never park under a tree with the top down, especially if you hear chirping from the branches above.
For boomers who once owned classic sports cars like the MG, Triumph, Austin-Healy, Alpha Romeo or Fiat (if you could get any of them to run on a damp, rainy day), there are fond memories of motoring around curves and over hills, stuffing six friends into the passenger seat and double-clutching that 4-speed, non-syncro gear box. Yes, the memories are grand indeed. It was also nice to be able to get in and out of the cars more easily, and to have more space between your belly and the steering wheel. Today’s sports cars are more refined, but road conditions and other drivers make them more of a hazard than ever. What I’d really like to see is for one of the car companies to make a sports car roughly the size of an Abrams M1 Tank and name it something like, “The Revenger Mk. II.”
Note: We sorted through tons of statistics and it’s impossible to draw clear conclusions about vehicle safety on American roads. SUV’s and light trucks are bigger and heavier and occupants are more likely to survive a crash with a car than vice versa, except that SUV’s have a tendency to roll over. Sports cars are considerably more maneuverable and able to avoid crashes, but with road crowding there is less space for maneuvering. In physics, there’s a simple formula, f=m*a (force equals mass times acceleration), which loosely translated means that in accidents, “bigger wins.” The bottom line is that no matter how safe, small or large a vehicle is, real safety depends on the behavior of drivers. Tightening up requirements for a license might be a good place to start improving on that.
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