Life not a bed of roses for drivers

Eddy Elmer

The University of Toronto Varsity, 24 October 1996

You know, it never really occurred to me how difficult life is for the motorist. I am ashamed that for all these years I have not offered the appreciation, sympathy, and respect that is far overdue these model citizens.

This brings great pain to my caring heart, such that every once in a while I feel an overwhelming urge to run out into the street during my lunch hour, knock on a motorist's car window, and give the driver a great big bear hug (and, should the driver so desire, perhaps a kiss or two on the cheek). That is, of course, right before said driver decides to jump on the gas, rev up his engine, and squash me to death like the piddly, insignificant little pedestrian that I am.

I recall standing at an intersection one morning, patiently awaiting the "Walk" signal and my turn to cross the street, when an obviously frazzled and impatient young woman looks my way, scoffs at my prudish adherence to traffic laws, and brazenly jaywalks across the street. Seconds later, a Ford Escort and a BMW come barrelling down the street faster than two televangelists in a runaway car, missing the woman by mere inches.

Now clearly, this young woman knowingly flirted with death, but was this a sterling example of responsible driving on the driver's part? While the answer is probably self-evident, I do not wish to appear altogether biased against drivers. Thus, allow me to critically examine this question with an eye to the driver's point of view.

Upon reflection, I realise I mustn't be wholly insensitive to the driver's lot in life. Even the government—that cold, heartless institution—offers drivers special liberties and concessions under the law. For instance, it is clearly stated in the Highway Traffic Act that in emergency situations, drivers are permitted to make exceptions to certain rules of the road. I admit feeling embarrassed to think that I, a university-educated chap, fail to realise that getting to the local coffee shop in time to snatch the morning's last prune danish does indeed qualify as an emergency and takes precedence over something as trivial as a human life. A prune danish, after all, does provide for some momentary pleasure. What can a stranger on the street provide?

Furthermore, it's not impossible to justify the superiority of a 3,000-pound hunk of Detroit steel which can go from A to B in two seconds flat, over a useless, pathetic 150-pound mass of skin and bones so tired it can barely walk down the street, its gait hopelessly impaired by the curses of potholes, bubble gum, ill-fitting shoes, and the ever-present bunion.

But lest I forget that driving is also a gruelling task in and of itself. One must exercise the muscles before opening the car door in the morning. A complex series of stretches and callisthenics must be performed before plopping one's ass into the car seat. Arthritis can flare when putting the key in the ignition. And what pure dreadfulness when the freshly-manicured nail breaks whilst turning the radio dial.

Naturally, I certainly mustn't forget the heroic feats drivers perform almost daily, rendering pedestrians' rituals of drudging through puddles and dog poop nothing more than unskilled labour. Come now, pedestrians should clearly be willing to forfeit their lives for those Olympic drivers who impress us daily by cooking breakfast in the front seat, styling hair and refreshing mascara in the rearview mirror, necking with passengers, or finishing a TV Guide crossword puzzle while making a left-hand turn at a busy intersection.

You know, it cannot surprise me that God, in his collaboration with Henry Ford has blessed drivers' souls and recognised their true achievements by furnishing them with the ever pious symbol of salvation: the ubiquitous car horn. The car horn, you see, is the driver's assurance that when his time is up, he will be guaranteed a space in the great parking lot in the sky. In fact, when one hears the honking of a horn, one knows the true meaning of a blessing in disguise.

Traffic is backed up at 9:00 a.m. and cars are going nowhere. A horn honks. The paperboy is riding too close. A horn honks. A lady in an electric wheelchair loses a tire in the middle of the intersection. A baby flies out of an open window. A horn honks.

A pedestrian throws tomatoes at a driver's car.

A horn honks.

The old lady in the wheelchair hits a driver over the head with her prosthesis.

A horn honks.

A gang of pedestrians plans a carjacking.

A horn honks.

I take a driver's horn and shove it where no mechanic will ever look.

A horn honks. And honks. And honks.