I don’t often cut through the
Duke Douche Campus, but when I do, I almost always learn something new.
For example, the Dudebro Kiss-n-Go Lane, which is basically just a regular street except that some f*ckwit fratboy suddenly stops his X-Terra in the middle of it and idles the engine while he waits for his buddy to jump in or out of the passenger seat.
Fortunately, I slammed on the brakes — as did the scooter-mounted gentleman behind me. Unfortunately, my brakes work pretty well whereas Scooterboy’s didn’t at all…which is how he crashed into the back of the car.
It’s times like these that I’m really glad I don’t drive a
n @$$h0le car luxury vehicle, because if I did, I’d probably be dead of a rage stroke several times over by now.
Nobody in the South knows how to drive* and you would not believe the $#!+ that jerks in BMWs scream at me whenever they narrowly miss me at an intersection when traffic is supposed to stop and the walk light is flashing. Do I have any idea the kind of scratches a corpse leaves on a car? DO I? And the insurance, don’t even get them started.
As it is, the Flying Eggplant is basically a 20-year-old mobile storage unit that even carjackers won’t touch and Scooterboy’s ride was basically a souped-up Tonka.
So mostly there was a lot of “Whoa, are you ok?” “Yeah, I’m fine. Are YOU ok?” “Nah, don’t worry, it’s cool. Are you SURE you’re not hurt?” before we apologized (“I’m so sorry I scratched your bumper!” “I’m so sorry that random piece fell off your bike. I hope it’s not important?”), wished each other a pleasant evening, and went our separate ways.
So yeah, I hope those idiots are having fun right now, binge-drinking, DUI-ing, and date-raping their way through their undergraduate years. Meanwhile, I have learned yet another thing, although I’d hard pressed to say how it might enhance any aspect of my life.
*Whereas Northerners do, but choose not to.