I loved being a typical reckless teen driver for about 8 months after I got my license. I would zoom through the streets of my neighborhood in my sexXxXy Volvo, rolling my eyes at the mothers who would hand-signal “slow down!” to me. F them, I’d say to myself. I can see dem kids if they was to run out in da streets. Then, inexplicably, and well before I should have, I grew the fuck up. I realized wow, I’m not the Bionic Woman, and my reaction time is merely average. Do I feel like killing a small child today? No thanks. Top-tier colleges wouldn’t look too fondly on that. And now, with a fiery passion, I hate teen drivers. Ok, cool, swerve by me in your awesome doorless Wrangler that you got from you dad when he upgraded to a Lexus. I HOPE YOU FALL OUT. Why don’t you go to Kelly’s house party, drink 9 Keystones and race home before curfew? WHAT A SOUND IDEA. Hey, here’s one that’s even better: Blast your music to prove how cool you are/what amazing taste in music you have (you’re so original!), even though you can’t even hear the equally cool people in your car, oh not to mention be able to concentrate or hear when you scrape against my car! Why the anger, young Allison, you may be asking? Because yesterday I go to the parking lot at my office and a note was on my windshield. Apparently this person’s daughter gently scraped my bumper, and if I think the damage is noticeable, I should call, bla bla. My bumper is so bad as it is I didn’t even notice. But that’s not the point here. Why the fuck didn’t the daughter leave me a note?? She was probably blasting her music (he CAN read ma pokerfaaaace) and drove too fast out of her spot (might I add that I park right up to the trees and leave about 7 feet of room behind me in the spot to AVOID THIS PROBLEM) and poorly judged her spacing. Fine. Dandy. What really pisses me off is that her parent left a note. Why is it so hard to take responsibility for your own actions, little one? I can just see it now. “Omg I hit this car wa waaa Lady Gaga help me, what do I do? OH I go home and pretend nothing happened! Oh crap, Mom noticed the damage to my front bumper? I guess I’ll just have her go back to the lot, tell her which car it was, and she can leave a nice note and continue solving my problems!” (If anyone hasn’t picked up on this yet, the moral of the story is clearly that I miss being an overindulged teenager) So yes, that left me in the parking lot waving my cane to no one in particular and clenching my dentures in fury. DAMN TEENAGERS!
On that note, I hope my parents continue to pay my car insurance come fall.
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