Goths Drive Acuras

I had my purse/backpack, my lunchbox, my cell phone, my keys and my tea all positioned in such a way that nothing could drop if I walked straight to the car with my head in the right position and didn’t have to go around anything. I clicked the unlock button on my keychain, used my pinky finger to open the door and then stepped back slightly while the door opened to it’s fullest. So far so good – nothing spilled or dropped. I kept telling myself that if I could just get the tea in the cup holder, the rest would be easy.

And I did it. I got the tea in the cup holder. I set my lunchbox and purse/backpack down on the passenger seat and reached to the backseat to get my olive green, corduroy shirt that I use for a jacket and knocked my tea over onto the driver’s seat. Just kidding. See? That DIDN’T happen. Which means that the morning should have gone fine.

After slipping on my jacket, I said good morning to the punk kid that was getting into his car across the cul-de-sac. He’s 16, maybe 17, has size 1 black plugs in his ears, dyed black hair, wearing all black clothes and accessories with silver spikes and carries around him an air of getting the short end of the stick and of general entitlement. I’m all for the freedom of expression, so it doesn’t bother me in the least the way he dresses. I myself still consider getting my nose pierced every other week.

No, it wasn’t his fashion sense that bothered me, or the way he grunted and rolled his eyes at me as he swung into his car. It was the way that he kept his little silver piece of crap Acura lodged in my tailpipe as we drove the 2 miles to the main road. And as he urged me to push my speed to above 190 in the 45 zone, I showed my great love for his actions by slowing down to 30.

When we got to the main road, I signaled right, (so did he) and inched a little further up, trying to extradite myself from him. And then it happened. He hit me. He hit my back bumper with a very loud thud.

I got out and walked back to see the damage. And this is the part where I appreciate the way that the Chevy people build their vehicles that guzzle fortunes of gas because there was no damage to my car at all. No. In fact, it was his paint all over my bumper and it just flaked off with a small rub of my finger. My bumper had no idea that anything had even happened. My bumper had his arms folded across his chest, his gut sucked in and asked, ‘Wha?? You lookin’ at me?’

I looked at Gothpunk and he was all, ‘I thought you went!’ with his lips painted in black lipstick. ‘You thought I went?’ I asked him. ‘Ya! Totally! I thought you went!’ ‘Well, did you look up and think I went or were you actually looking down at your lap or fiddling with the radio and think I went? Because if it’s the first thing, you really should get some glasses or some anti-hallucinogens. And if it’s the second, stop playing with yourself while you drive.’ He laughed. He laughed! And then said, ‘You’re pretty funny. No, seriously, I totally thought you went!’