Traffic trauma continued. 6/19/2007
So anyway, it’s been a month of driving this big diesel daily, through the madness that is city traffic. And due to public perception, and staff expectations of how someone in my specific corporate position is supposed to dress and behave, I am forced to wear the monkey suit, and drive in to work. Which sucketh donkey dick. Big time.
Driving in, I noticed something which KY summed up quite nicely. What he said to me over a tumbler of Jack Daniel’s was this. “Women are really brave drivers. Because they are oblivious.”
I laughed when he said this because it was true. On the drive in daily, the biggest thing on the road is me, or rather, the diesel I’m driving. The only things bigger than I am are the buses and various lorries. I noticed that the diesel is actually slightly wider than even a Range Rover. Sitting way above traffic, stuck in the line of cars, I have a pretty good view ahead of me.
Because the diesel is a diesel, she isn’t all that quick off the line, although the grunt of the engine makes roll -ons absolutely no contest. When the diesel is moving, in top gear, all I have to do is goose the throttle, and she will absolutely rocket forward. This is great in the shuffle-stop that is rush hour traffic. I keep the gearbox in third, creeping along slowly, and then tap the accelerator whenever I need to move forward, using just enough clutch to keep the engine from bogging down. Which it doesn’t usually, because I’ve actually rolled her on in top gear from 1,100 r.p.m and she didn’t even stumble.
And sitting in the traffic, because the diesel’s rather slow take off, there’s usually a gap between the diesel, and the car in front. Not much of one, but a gap nonetheless. And the temptation for the driver in the adjoining lane to cut in is high. I have begun to notice something during my daily drive. When a male driver sees the gap, he will check his mirrors. He realises that his mirror is filled with giant truck, and immediately exercises discretion, and doesn’t pull out.
Women drivers, on the other hand, see the diesel in the mirrors, and pull out anyway. They are completely oblivious of the fact that the diesel tips the scales at a deuce and a half, and that stopping the diesel once it gets going takes a bit of effort. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve had to brake very sharply to avoid melding the front of the diesel with the back of some matchbox on wheels driven by some random office lady who thinks she’s invincible just because she actually remembered to put her turn signal on before changing lanes and cutting into my path.
I wouldn’t mind it so much if the gap was wide enough to allow a smooth lane change, and for the car to merge properly into the traffic, but sometimes, the gap is just barely wide enough for the matchbox, say 15 feet or so.
One of these days, I’m going to be daydreaming, or getting caught up on the music coming over the headphones, or just unable to react in time, and the diesel is going to be wearing some woman’s dinky little car as a hood ornament.