You would have been amazed at the spectacle. The man was floating down the road in what looked to be a kind of meditative state. I had no idea that anyone as – I would like to say big boned, but I’d be lying – overweight as he could manage to focus on levitation and momentum. When I looked a little closer I realized that he wasn’t really floating. He was more of a faker than a fakir. This particular example of American excess was actually riding a scooter. A 350 pound man on a scooter is almost as impressive as a 350 pound man levitating.
Why is it that cars and people don’t seems to match? I will start with me. You would think someone as cool as me would be driving something amazing like a royal blue Tesla Roadster or a cherry red 1963 Corvette Sting Ray or even a Vette. Now, to be fair, right out of high school I was driving a Vette and I looked as cool as an eighteen-year-old can look in that car. Sadly, it was not a Corvette but a Chevette. Now, I drive a 2003 gray Malibu. It is a reliable, down to earth, safe car that makes me look like the married, stereotypical, balding, middle-aged man that I am.
Even worse, (or so I tell myself) are the massive cars that look like aircraft carriers on wheels that are driven by the tiniest, little, blue-haired ladies. When you see one of those boats pulling slooooowly into a parking spot at FoodMart, you know who will be getting out of there. It’s a good thing they have the really tall gray hair because I the other day I almost called the cops. I was certain there was a fourth grader getting out of the Lincoln Intercontinental Mark XXVII Land Beast at Long John Silver’s. I really should have known better because it was a school day and senior citizens specials were listed on the sign. In my defense, she was looking through the steering wheel while driving.
Another thing that gets on my nerves was a car I saw parked in a handicapped parking place. It is not that it is parked there illegally. Quite the contrary. It had a handicapped tag and everything to keep it perfectly legal. It was the car parked there that bothers me. It was a brand spankin’ new, orange Dodge Charger. Living in Knoxville, Tennessee, you get used to seeing all kinds of orange on all kinds of things due to this little school we have here called the University of Tennessee. The real issue I have is the car and the tag. If you have a hard time walking, can you still control the muscle behind that car? Or should I be hiding behind one of those four foot pillars they have to keep people from driving through the front door at Walmart? And if the tag is for a heart condition… <<shudder>>.
Ok, now that I have gotten that out of my system I can focus on the really important things in life like how to get a Tesla Roadster or a ’68 Mustang or Dodge Viper or any car that disguises my dorkiness.