The Guessing Game

The lax mom. The treehugger. The democrat. The republican. The war veteran. The student. The grandpa. Let's face it: we all play that game where we guess who is driving in front of us. Well, at least I do. It's fun, and not to toot my own horn, but most of the time I'm spot on.

What determines the final conclusion in my book? Car color, style, brand, stickers, magnets, license plate, and overall driving skill (just to name a few). So based upon these characteristics, I can somewhat accurately pinpoint the driver.

So, let's practice.

I'll start with my vehicle of choice: Goldish Jeep Cherokee, Ocean City sticker, Virginia Tech sticker, Roxy sticker, swimming and runner magnets for my school, and a 13.1 magnet.

Let's dissect the data. I drive an SUV-like vehicle, so I'm probably not very small or short. The OC sticker represents that I probably go to the beach a lot, and might have a job or place there. VT means that I might go there, or I have a relative there. Roxy means I'm definitely a girl, and is probably has a direct correlation to spending time at the beach. My high school magnets mean that I'm obviously still in high-school and am on the swim and cross country teams. Last but not least, the 13.1. Now, a lot of newbs might not how the significance of such a number. For those who don't, it is the milage of a half-marathon. Usually, a runner wouldn't put something on their vehicle that they've done only once, so it could be assumed that I've run a half-marathon more than once.

See, look at all that info. Just from the back of a car.Oh, and yeah, I drive kinda fast so I'm probably a kid.

Your turn. Yellow Subaru. Co-exist sticker. I love my cockerspaniel. License plate from Vermont. Skiing sticker. Bike rack on the roof. Obama 2012 sticker. Make love, not war.

Might I add that this Subaru is out there in the real world. And I had the pleasure of driving behind it's slow sunshine bumper the whole way home the other day. I'm not going to say my assumption of this driver, because it might be a bit offensive. I was peeved, what can I say.

Enjoy your driving and keep on guessing.

REALLY?!?

Ok, so the caraziest (ha) thing happened to me yesterday. I'm still peeved.

So here I am, driving home from swim practice, still wet and cold from the pool. I really just want to get home and get some coffee and relax. I'm in no mood for shananigans of any kind. You know that mood when sometimes you feel like you just want a teleportation device to take you straight home and not to any driving of any kind? Yeah, that's how I felt. Just add in a heap of homework and hours of exhaustion.

Here I am, just starting my drive on an old single lane backroad that is rarely traveled. It's late, so I figure I'll have a pretty breezy ride home with less traffic. However, only minutes into my drive, it already goes downhill -  a blue SUV Volvo pulls right on out in front of me from a driveway. Sure, Volvo, it make SO much more sense to merge in front  of a high speed vehicle than behind it, where you can take all the time in the world to accelerate.

So she pulls out in front of me and I have to slam on my breaks to avoid hitting her silly little bumper. (I will proceed to use female pronouns throughout my blogging when the gender of the vehecile-offender is unknown, because, lets face it, women really are worse drivers - and yes, I am female myself). She seems to disregard my presence and proceeds to accelerate at the pace of a snail. After about five minutes of torture, she finally reaches the ridiculously high speed of...wait for it.... TWENTY-FIVE MILES PER HOUR. No joke. As you can imagine, at this point, I'm a bit peeved. Scratch that. ALOT peeved. I'm wet, my heat has yet to warm up, and I'm in need of some caffeine. So naturally, I proceed to ride her bumper relentlessly so my message is clearly sent.

It is.

At the end of this two lane road, it curves off at stop sign that meets a larger road with multiple lanes. Here's my chance to make up for lost time. After the Volvo turns on to the road, I'll just zoom in the other lane and proceed home. But instead of turning on to the larger road, the Volvo stops at the stop sign (naturally) and the driver side door opens (unnaturally).

So here I am thinking, "O God, what's happening? What does she want? Is something wrong with her car? But nope, none of those things are true. Instead, I look up to see a middle-aged man, very dad-like, striding over to my jeep. He signals me to roll my window down. I reluctantly do so, just an inch.

"EXCUSE ME, DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE SPEED LIMIT IS?? I just want to let you know that children play along this road all the time and you need to know that you need to be more careful. And the speed limit is TWENTY FIVE."

"Ok, thank you sir".

And that was that. Just got terrorized by a middle-aged dad driving a Volvo. Felt pretty bad with a combination of mad, I must say. It was the perfect way to start of drive home.

So the next morning on my way to school, I drove along that same road, paying special attential to the speed limit. I saw that rectangular black and white sign read not 25 mph, but a whole FIFTEEN MILES PER HOUR above that. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the speed limit was FORTY, not 25, as the Volvo dad had previously mentioned. And might I add that I have never seen children frolic along that road in my four years of driving along it.

So there middle-aged-Volvo-driving-dad. Us youngings are sometimes better drivers than you give us credit for.