Get
your butt off the road
By
Jeffrey Fazio
DriveTime Columnist
It
might be kind of bizarre, but I distinctly recall the first time I
ever filled up a tank of gas in my very own car. It was just over 16
years ago and I had just turned 16. I don’t remember where it was
(West Lawn maybe?). I don’t recall how much it cost (much less than
a $2 per gallon I’m sure!).
The
part about this experience that was so earth-shattering that it has
been tattooed into the nether regions of my mind, was that I had
slightly overfilled that first tank. There simply wasn’t room in the
tank for those last few drops of petrol. Those drops spilled out, over
the lip of the gas tank’s orifice and spread out into a hazy stain
across the car’s paint like blood on the sidewalk of a fresh crime
scene.
All
drama aside, this was, by no means, a big deal. I surely wasn’t the
first person to do it. It’s probably safe to say it wasn’t even
the first time I ever over filled a tank and I am certain it wasn’t
the last. So what was so significant about it this time?
The
pivotal moment happened minutes later, a few miles away. Dusk was
slipping away into the darkness of night as I merged onto the by-pass.
As the highway curved ahead, I could see the driver’s side window of
the car in front of me start to creep downward. I could barely make
out the driver from the ghoulish-green glow of the dash lights, but I
could clearly see a fire in his eye or so I thought. Fate would have
it that the fire was actually in his mouth, and with one last drag it
lit up with all the fury of hell as his hand reached up for it.
With
a quick flick of his wrist, the fiery projectile was out the window
like shot. The initial plunge of the burning embers toward the roadway
was intercepted by the air stream of the moving vehicle which caused
it to lift back upward as it came rushing toward me like a guided
Patriot missile. It was heading right for my windshield, it’s
malicious glow escalating from the sudden rush of fresh air. Death
seemed imminent, but at the last moment that invisible layer of air
that hugs the body of a moving car protected me and pushed the
cigarette beyond my reaches.
As
it twirled out-of-control past my periphery, I started to relax. Then,
with all of the anxiety of a well-filmed horror movie, my mind
abruptly recalled the few drops of spilled gas on the side of the car.
Terror returned en masse as I realized the dreadful possibility of the
dying embers igniting the fuel that I had so carelessly spilled. I was
sure this would be the end. I could see that my car truly was destined
to go up in flames with me trapped inside.
Needless
to say, the conclusion of all of this drama was much less interesting.
The reddish light died out as it went tumbling toward the shoulder of
the road to forever lie amongst millions of it’s fallen brethren
that had come before. Simply put, it just ended up being someone else’s
butt along the side of the road.
To
this day I am constantly amazed at how blatant some people are about
flicking cigarettes out of their cars. They unflinchingly toss their
rubbish in complete disregard of the intimidating "$300 fine for
littering" signs that litter our highways. I suspect these are
the very same people that try to hide that they pick their nose
(perfectly legal!) while they drive; yet, they will brazenly litter
after every smoke.
If
they collected all of their cigarette butts for an entire month, I
wonder if they would be just as likely to dump the pile of them on the
side of the road or if they would actually feel guilty enough not to.
Of course, if they were going to collect all of those cigarette
carcasses for 30 days, where could they possibly keep them? Hmm. Maybe
the ashtray?
Is
it really that hard to keep your butt off the road?
|