i admit it… i’m afraid to drive

As if the texting wasn’t evidence enough that this guy is a dumbass, he also has the backwards hat thing going on.  F-minus.

As if the texting wasn’t evidence enough that this guy is a dumbass, he also has the backwards hat thing going on. F-minus.


I never thought I’d say that. When I was 14 I couldn’t wait to get my license. I drove all the time. Yes, I said 14 and no it wasn’t completely legal. My friend Kevin and I went to the DMV as soon as I turned 16 so I could take the exam for my permit. I scheduled my driver’s test the same day. Hell, I even taught a few of my friends to drive.

In hindsight, maybe I wasn’t such a good instructor. I remember at least one of those friends (no names, Carrie Downey Ryan) missing her driveway and landing us in the ditch. Sorry Mom—pretty sure that was your Cavalier.

We got the car out without major incident. And we had fun. But things are different now.

It seems to me it’s much easier to get a license these days—at least in Tennessee. I think as long as you have a pulse, a few dollars and aren’t a vampire (that pesky photo thing) you can drive legally here. But that doesn’t mean you can drive well.

We have a lot more people on the road. Far too many shouldn’t be. Even more seem to be afflicted with what I’d call cell phone seizures. They’re so busy texting, emailing or reading the latest breaking news on Facebook that they’re fresh out of attention for driving. They weave. They speed up and then slow down to a crawl. They change lanes without even looking, let alone signaling. I suppose they can’t signal because their hands are too busy on their phones. They terrify me even more than Styrofoam.

Conservatively, I’d say nearly half the people I see on my daily commute are doing something with their phones. It’s like smoking used to be before people caught on that it kills you. Except here in the south, where some “folks” still think tobacco is a vegetable. And ranch dressing is a beverage, but that’s another post for another time.

Newsflash people—car accidents tend to kill you, too. You may have actually read about that on Facebook while you were driving. How ironic would that be? So please, for your own safety and the safety of everyone else on the road, put your phone in the glove box, the trunk or somewhere else you aren’t tempted to use it while you’re supposed to be driving.

Nearly everyone has a phone now, so you don’t look more important if you’re talking while driving. You kind of look like an ass—especially if you have one of those Bluetooth things sticking out of your ear. Sure, it’s probably safer, but I tend to agree with one of my communication mentors, Steve Crescenzo, when he refers to them as “ear dildos.”

I guess you get a pass if you use a hands free device or your phone magically connects to your car speakers, but even that scares me a little. But not the dildo. That just looks stupid. Really, it’s for your own good.

No pass for those who think they can multitask. You can’t. Traffic signals are not meant for texting, emailing, web browsing, tweeting, snap-chatting, hair & make-up, shaving or picking your nose (that pane of glass you look through goes both ways). Holding your phone up at steering wheel level doesn’t mean you can also see the road. At least not well enough to drive. When you’re driving, you have one task. Just one. Get safely from where you started to where you’re going. That’s it.

I know I have friends and family who use their phones and drive. I’ve even taken a call in the car now and then—especially when it’s one of my kids—but I try very hard to avoid it and I’m asking you to do the same thing. Emergencies aside, there’s nothing important enough to take the risk.

Feel free to scoff if you feel compelled to do so. I’ve become the old guy who falls asleep at the movies and shakes his crooked finger at the youngsters. I get it. So scoff away. Just give your phone a rest while you’re driving. I promise you won’t miss anything important, except maybe the car you would’ve run into while answering that text.

Shit. I just occurred to me that some of you may have been driving while you read this. Don’t do that again, okay?

Cheers!


michael marotta

Michael Marotta started making up stories before he started school, imagining himself into his grandmother’s memories of growing up during The Great Depression and World War II. Fascinated by the people in those tales, he began to make up his own characters (and no small number of imaginary friends). He honed his craft in high school, often swapping wild stories for the answers he didn’t know to cover up the fact that he hadn’t studied.

Today, Michael’s the guy making up histories for people he sees at the airport, in restaurants or simply hanging around in his hometown of Nolensville, Tennessee. His kids are grown and most of the imaginary friends have moved on, but their spirits live in the characters and stories he creates—pieces of real people marbled with fabricated or exaggerated traits and a generous helping of Eighties pop culture.

Michael’s characters appeal to many people because they are the people we all know. They are our friends, our families and people we encounter every day. He writes for the love of writing and for the crazy old lady who raised him.

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