Drive my car

I’ve developed a theory, using an unscientific method, that determines a driver’s personality based on the make of their car.

This is solely based on observations made on the Palmetto Expressway in Miami, FL and does not necessarily apply to how you conduct yourself outside of your car.

For instance, I can only determine that the driver of a BMW is only an asshole while he/she is in their car and on the Palmetto. However, I cannot assert with certainty that he/she is an asshole outside of their car (even though we all know they are most likely an even bigger asshole on foot).


Acura: You may think that big “A” on your hood represents the make of your car, but it really stands for “Asshole-in-training.” Although you aspire to drive a BMW, you are not quite there yet. Your angst to make it to BMW-Asshole-Status is apparent in the way you abruptly change lanes and end up behind a 16-wheeler going 20 miles under the speed limit.

Audi: You must be a Buddhist, Audi driver. I’ve never seen such serenity and control on the Palmetto. Even when you are pushed to the limit by some asshole in a BMW applying concealer and/or lip gloss, you gracefully pull around him/her without flinching.

Cadillac: Why are you on the Palmetto at this hour? You could have selected the 11 a.m. time slot for your mammogram, but now look at you: Stressed, sweaty and hunched over your steering wheel, while you check the blind spot created by your enormous car. Breaking news grandma, no one is going to let you in this lane, especially not the guy in the BMW 7-series, because you have your blinker on.

Chrysler: You are a tourist. We are all trying really hard to be nice.

Ford: You are a recognition-seeking driver, the kind that lets other drivers in your lane or slows down for construction workers to earn a polite wave or flicker of the high-beams. You do this to pretend that your fellow drivers are thanking you for buying an American car. You tell yourself that your purchase single-handedly saved the American car industry and that other drivers are enthusiastically chanting, “U-S-A! U-S-A!” from the inside of their modern and well-appointed foreign car that has a better warranty and much higher resale value that yours.

Honda: If you are the driver of a four-door Accord, you are the Debbie Downer of the Palmetto. I can tell by your bumper-stickers. You drive in a way that makes me think you have self-esteem issues. Maybe it’s because you don’t like yourself enough to drive a car with personality. If you are the driver of a Civic, you are going through life pretending to be a responsible adult, but you’re not fooling anyone. It’s 8:30 a.m. and you are already drunk or high or both.

Infiniti: Every time you want to be an asshole, like your friend in the BMW, you remind yourself that you are a role model. Other drivers look up to you. They are constantly checking out your car and wondering how much you make a year.

Lexus: You are old. You and the lady in the Cadillac should stay in the right lane at all times. In the event that you are not above the age of 76, it’s clear to me and the rest of the drivers on the Palmetto that you bought this car because you are trying to impress your boss or your in-laws, who drive BMWs. Regardless, you are getting no where near the left lane.

Mercedes Benz: Although you had the good sense not to buy a BMW, you drive like you own the Palmetto. Maybe you do. But your sense of entitlement is annoying. There are other people on the highway, you know. By the way, how much did you pay for your car? And you still can’t get the bluetooth to work?

Nissan: Like Honda, I can break this brand down by model. Are you the driver of a Nissan Altima? Then that means you are really angry about your job – or your life in general. You drive like you don’t want to be anywhere and that’s because you really don’t want to be anywhere. Are you the driver of a Nissan Maxima? Then that means you’ve made it. You drive just like an Infiniti driver, only with your urban music blaring. Drivers of both the Altima and Maxima could be easily coaxed into racing alongside an asshole in a BMW.

Toyota: You are one of two people. You are either an older person nearing retirement (if not retired already) or you are a young person driving the car you’ve inherited from your parents. Whoever you may be, there is a good chance that you are A) scared, B) missing car parts, C) lost or D) all of the above. Inevitably some asshole in a BMW will make you swerve off the road and you will undoubtedly poop your pants.

Human behavior

I believe we are capable of achieving an era of global peace. If it wasn’t for some a-holes that mess it up all the time.

And these are the jerks that ruin it all for the rest of us:

1. Those that choose not to scoot up while waiting for the light to change in the left turn lane. I’m not asking you to tailgate the car in front of you, but, Jesus, if everyone scooted just a little bit, then there would be space for a lot more cars. Cars that are blocking the last intersection because you refuse to scoot up. Scoot up assholes! Scoot the fuck up! For your fellow-man.

2. When someone says “Thank you,” or “Please,” do NOT answer with “Uh huh.” Uh huh what asshole? Are you being smug with me? Do I owe you a favor because I’m asking for extra cheese? “Uh huh.” What happened to “My pleasure,” or “No worries”? Hell, when you say “You’re welcome,” you don’t even have to worry about spelling you’re right. If you’re annoyed with my gratitude, just smile back. Don’t say anything. Don’t make a sound. Just smile back. Smile and be a pacifist.   

3. When you are in a queue with a 45 minute wait time to get into a Haunted House at Universal Studio’s Halloween Horror Nights and your names are Chase and Valeria, no one cares to hear your personal conversation. It’s not interesting. No one cares. Be respectful to the people and service animals in your surrounding by turning it down a notch. Outside of theater class, you must coexist with the rest of the world, which means if you’re not going to shut the fuck up, at least keep it to a decent volume. For the common good, hush.

4. Do not take a shopping cart that isn’t yours. Seriously. Are you a sociopath? Do you take pleasure in causing others pain? Because I can’t imagine something more sinister than taking a cart, paying for someone else’s groceries and then not giving it to them. And do you select the cart by the items inside, or just the convenience of the location? You know what, I don’t care. Just stop it. For the sake of global harmony.

5. You have a moment. You have a specific number of years until your heart stops pumping. Why would you spend a single second of that time popping your gum near other human beings. Are you kidding me? Are you some regressed primitive animal that releases warning sounds before it starts to head-butt another primitive animal? Do you know what that sound lets other humans know? That you’re a douche. That you’re the type of person that spits your gum out on the sidewalk. It also says that you’re an advocate of conflict and war, as you allow mini-explosions to constantly take place in your mouth. Well you violent gum popper, the buck stops here. The time for peace is now and it starts with your mouth.

Be peaceful assholes.

Road plague

Do not attempt while driving.

This morning, on the highway, I was tailgating a two-thousand-and-late Honda Accord. Behind the wheel was a balding man in a plaid shirt. He had a wedding ring and a wrist watch on a leather-band on his left hand. The same hand he would use to twirl the few hairs on the top of his head. He did this while driving. And it was driving me insane.

I wondered if his propensity for baldness was too much testosterone or too little self-control for a horrific habit. What if he was like one of those sad birds you see at a pet shop that plucks out its own feathers out of frustration and/or sadness? Well, wait. He wasn’t exactly plucking or pulling his hair out, so it’s not a fair comparison. He was twirling, like a four-year old girl. And it was still making me crazy.

Not being able to shake the thought of what I saw, I googled hair twirling – after I got off the highway, of course. In my search I found that there is a term for his condition called Trichotillomania and it’s abbreviated TTM. It’s some sort of version of an obsessive compulsive disorder. I instantly felt bad for the guy. Here I was judging him and getting crazy about his neurological disorder. He probably has to do it in the car because his wife beats him with a frying pan every time he reaches for his head.

And then the guilt consumed me.

What kind of person gets mad about someone else’s involuntary weird habits? If someone were to stutter, would I punch them in the face? If someone were to blink excessively, would I shake them by the shoulders? Then, I wondered, if I had some sort of condition, like Intermittent Explosive Disorder or Rage Disorder or Monomania (singularly obsessed with hair twirling).

And then someone honked at me because the light changed to green.