DAWN OF THE DICKHEAD MINIVAN DRIVERS
when there's no more room in hell, the dead will
drive a caravan in squirrel hill.
I have in the past made no secret of my disdain for
most minivan drivers -- please note that I said, most; my brother- and
sister-in-law are excellent and courteous minivan drivers, as are our old next
door neighbors and, I'm sure, three or four other people in the world -- and the
events of this morning's mini-commute, taking Adam to his bus stop and Wendy to
the soul-sucking vortex that is the Tepper School of Business, will do nothing
to soothe that prejudice.
At Forbes and Murdoch, a silver minivan braking, then blowing through a stop sign to cross oncoming traffic.
At Murray and Hobart, a dark blue minivan, in clear and dangerous violation of state law, with its roof, its rear window, and two of its side windows still covered in snow through which the driver could not possibly have seen unless he were Superman. Or God. (And I'm doubting either would choose to tool around town in, of all things, a dark blue minivan.)
At Shady and Beacon, a beige minivan -- is there a more fitting symbol of all that is dull and uninspiring in the world? -- waiting for something I could not determine (the first day of Spring? the second horseman of the apocalypse?) to come along and signal that it is safe to turn left at a green light when no cars or pedestrians or even small mammals are headed your way.
At Forbes and Denniston, a black minivan, in clear and frustrating violation of state and city law, sprawled across an intersection, blocking the box for two different cars trying to move in two different directions, its driver happily chatting away on her cell phone, while her toddler, deep into perhaps the tenth minute of his commute and already careening toward chronic overstimulation, cast his vacant stare toward an overhead video screen showing Finding Nemo.
A better choice, for that minivan and for all its automotive brethren this morning, would have been The Incredibles. Or maybe Dawn of the Dead.
At Forbes and Murdoch, a silver minivan braking, then blowing through a stop sign to cross oncoming traffic.
At Murray and Hobart, a dark blue minivan, in clear and dangerous violation of state law, with its roof, its rear window, and two of its side windows still covered in snow through which the driver could not possibly have seen unless he were Superman. Or God. (And I'm doubting either would choose to tool around town in, of all things, a dark blue minivan.)
At Shady and Beacon, a beige minivan -- is there a more fitting symbol of all that is dull and uninspiring in the world? -- waiting for something I could not determine (the first day of Spring? the second horseman of the apocalypse?) to come along and signal that it is safe to turn left at a green light when no cars or pedestrians or even small mammals are headed your way.
At Forbes and Denniston, a black minivan, in clear and frustrating violation of state and city law, sprawled across an intersection, blocking the box for two different cars trying to move in two different directions, its driver happily chatting away on her cell phone, while her toddler, deep into perhaps the tenth minute of his commute and already careening toward chronic overstimulation, cast his vacant stare toward an overhead video screen showing Finding Nemo.
A better choice, for that minivan and for all its automotive brethren this morning, would have been The Incredibles. Or maybe Dawn of the Dead.
Posted: Thu - February 28, 2008 at 08:55 AM
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Published On: Aug 28, 2008 10:23 PM
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Published On: Aug 28, 2008 10:23 PM