I Hate You and Your Big Ass Car

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PHOTO: The tiny-ass Chevette.

I hate you and your big ass car. I hate that you’re driving an enormous, obnoxious tank all over the fucking streets.

I know you’re a mother and nobody’s allowed to confront you and your adorable children, but I don’t care, I’m going to do it anyway. You’re acting like a stupid cunt with that giant vehicle, and now you know. I know your precious little splooge-trophies need their electronic consoles, ergonomic carriages, and coolers full of cruelty-free, organic baby mush, but remember– me and my tiny car have to stop, back up, and move over to the side when you come around a corner. My whole life has to stop and wait for your terrible behemoth of entitlement to go past me. Because of how big and wide and stupid your car is, it’s so big and so wide and so fucking stupid.

Put on some Eddie Money and come back with me to the 1980’s, won’t you? Back then my sister and I were toddlers and my single mother drove us, our diapers, toys, snot, snacks, juice, poop, tears and various articles around in a fucking Chevette. Remember the Chevette, mutherfuckers?  That car repped hard for my family for over 10 years. The thing was about the size of a jukebox, although you young whippersnappers probably don’t remember what real jukeboxes are either.

Other motorists on the road were able to maneuver around the Chevette safely.  We weren’t barreling down our narrow suburban streets in an Escalade like, “Fuck you, fellow drivers! Get out of our way!”

We didn’t put the safety of our own family above the safety of other families.  Now admittedly, that was partly because we couldn’t afford to, our budget wouldn’t have allowed us to drive a Land Rover even if we had wanted one, but my romantic hindsight wants to believe we wouldn’t have made that choice even if we’d had enough money.

I’ve asked people who drive SUVs why they do it, and that’s what they tell me, “I’m sitting up so high!  I can see everything!  It makes me feel so safe!” Oh man, that makes me want to go fucking insane. I want to say, “Oh, okay, so since you can afford to drive a car that gets 10 miles to the gallon, that means you deserve to be safer than people who give a shit about fuel economy?”  No, mutherfucker, you’ve got it all wrong!  The people who are conserving fuel should be the ones who survive car accidents!  Not somebody in a Chevy Suburban who’s like, “Fuck this planet and its finite resources! I like being up high where I can see stuff!”

And look, we survived in that tiny-ass Chevette! All three of us! Even without an extra row of seats that converts into a shuffleboard court in the back or whatever the fuck. And we were closer for it. Without a DVD player and a Bose soundsystem, all we had was the radio and each other’s voices. WE DIDN’T EVEN HAVE A FUCKING CASSETTE PLAYER.  Think about that next time little Jayden Brayden Jackson Logan is screaming for you to put on his favorite YouTube video on the way to the fucking grocery store. Do what I would do, turn around and tell him, “No, you little shit!  The car is a sacred fucking space where we’re going to talk to one another and learn about each other and feel our fucking feelings!”

We got a lot of perks out of driving a less-than-luxury car, in fact. We learned the lyrics to popular songs, and we learned to speak to one another and know about one another instead of turning the family car into another segmented area of isolation. We were forced to interact, on long trips especially. We played games, we sang, we teased one another, we fought, we smoked, we swore. WE ACTED LIKE A GODDAMN FAMILY.

But the assholishness of owning and operating an SUV goes far beyond the damage it does to just you and your stupid family (and mine). Driving one of these wheeled disgraces wastes gas. You know we can’t make gas, right? We just dig it out of the ground. We fight wars for that shit. That stuff is not forever. That’s what I meant before when I said it was finite. Finite means eventually we’re going to run out of it. When that happens there will be no heat, no refrigeration, no electricity at all, in fact. Or far less, anyway.  Don’t rely on wind and solar to light your make-up mirror, is what I mean. Doesn’t that sound awful? We’ll all be hunkered down in our houses under blankets. We’ll have to go back to hanging hams in barns until they’re cured or whatever. There won’t be any Netflix or NPR.  THERE WON’T BE A FUCKING INTERNET ANYMORE!  Doesn’t that sound scary? IT IS FUCKING SCARY! SO STOP WASTING FUEL WITH YOUR BIG STUPID CAR!!

And look, I’m not picking on just moms here. As much as I can’t stand people using their kids as an excuse to be SUV-driving douchebags, what’s even worse are people who just drive them because they like them. I hate you even more, Mr. Stupid Affluent Business Man Who Drives a Gigantic Car to Make Up for Having No Personality and Small Genitals.  You, Mr. SABMWDGCMUHNPSG, are really what is wrong with this country and this world in general. Please check yourself, Mr. SABMWDGCMUHNPSG, before you wriggedy wreck yourself.

We’re all attached to our cars, I know. What we drive is part of our identity. I like my little car and what it says about me: I’m not a rich fancy-pants and I give a shit about my carbon footprint. Maybe you like that your car broadcasts to the world what a great parent you are or how much money you have or how much you care about your family’s safety. Ok, fine, but just keep in mind, that’s not all you’re broadcasting.

Please, when you make major life choices about what you’re going to drive, where you’re going to live, how many kids you’re going to have, how many cases of disposable water bottles you’re going to buy at the wholesale club, please, please, please try to remember you live in a community. Please try to remember you and your spawn are not the only game in town.  There is also me, yes, trying to get to my low-paying job each morning in my tiny car, but there are also trees, flowers, and molecules of clean air which, I’m sure, also heave a sigh of disdain each time you drive by in your needlessly gargantuan automobile.

Please, reduce… you don’t even have to reuse and recycle yet. Just start by reducing. Let me know when you’re ready. I know where you can get a 1982 Chevette at a great price.