I see you. Oh yes, I do.
You are quite the fancypants in your gleaming vehicle, freshly washed, though the entire area in in a severe drought.
How nimbly you dart between the Mack trucks and the side rails! How lithely your jungle vehicle slides between the lesser species surrounding you!
Do you see me as I cower before you in my humble Civic? You must- you are almost in my back seat. Can you distinguish the juice stains on the carpet from your vantage point just over my shoulder? Do you see the tiny handprints on the windows? Does the fact that I have car seats indicate anything to you, such as, perhaps, that I might be carrying children?
Or are you too occupied flashing your incandescent fog lights?
Laying on your horn?
Twisting wildly about to find a way around me?
Listen, Mr. Hummer.
You are all that and a bag of chips.
You are manliness embodied.
You are powerful and large. I bow before you. I kowtow as best I can in rush-hour traffic.
But I hope that your house is on fire. Because anything other than a house fire or medical emergency? Doesn’t give you the right to put my life, or that of my progeny, in danger.
Vehicular manslaughter is a pretty serious thing to have on your record.
So think about this little ricerocket, as you spend $350 at the pump every three days, if you can even find Premium gas. Think about the humble language teacher as she sits in traffic, after waking up at 5am to make it to school where she provides instruction for most of the day, then takes care of her family. Think about how the person driving the car in front of you is also a human being. And while you are more than welcome to come and occupy my back seat, I’d appreciate it if you backed off.
Because tonight, as I cradle my children to sleep, I will think of you.
I will think of you, hoping that your house was OK, that your mom survived the heart attack, that your car made it home on the nearly empty tank like mine did.
But if I ever see you again, I will siphon your gas tank. And let my kids play in your back seat. Preferably with Jello pudding cups. And crunchy granola bars.
Cheers, Mr. Black Hummer. Namaste and bon voyage.