Raw Drip

I was driving to lunch the other day when a guy in an 80’s era Pontiac Firebird cut me off in spectacular fashion. The brakes of my poor, neglected minivan nearly ground down to the metal as I tried desperately to keep from smacking into him after his abrupt decision to be in front of me – at all costs. As I blasted my horn and swerved around him, I couldn’t help but notice the size of his rear spoiler. It was hard not to notice. It was enormous – glossy & bright red, too. Clearly it was an after-market install intended to enhance the appeal of the rest of the vehicle which had long ago faded into a sun-bleached shade of coral. My guess is that the guy had watched The Fast & Furious one too many times and was trying desperately to turn his POS into the horny lady attractor/muscle car it may have been in its glory days. While I must admire this guy’s optimistic view that an otherwise crappy car, when properly accessorized, could make him irresistible to women, I also found all confirmation of my belief that the quality of a man can be determined by the size of his rear spoiler. Generally, the bigger they are, the more of an a**hole.

I hate to rush to judgment (however, it appears I’m awfully good at it…), but oversized spoilers are clearly a case of over-compensation at best, and delusion at worst. Are these guys penises so small that they need a rear spoiler the size of a F16 wing? If it’s not over-compensation, what else explains the disproportionate number of young male drivers out there sporting obnoxious rear spoilers and equally obnoxious driving habits? I’m sure if you do the legwork and crunch the numbers, most all of the women they’ve slept with (assuming they’ve gotten that lucky) will say they weren’t impressed.

Oh gawd. It just occurred to me that I sound like someones mom. Am I getting too old, already? Are the pants too baggy & the hair too long? Certainly, the hot rods are too dangerous and flashy to be anything but an accident waiting to happen. If anything, my 30’s seem to be the beginning of an arc towards a strictly no B.S. destination – one that my grandmother has safely occupied for several years, much to my amusement. I don’t have any interest in being killed or maimed by some punk who wants to look cool in his faded Firebird. I’ve got laundry to fold, homework to forget, and perfunctory meals to prepare. I don’t have time to fluff you’re already over-inflated ego, Mr. Spoiler Guy.

Whether my spoiler theory points to the fact that I’m headed towards Geezer-ville or is statistically accurate, I can’t say. I can tell you that I’m going to go out of my way to avoid the next car I see with a gigantic rear spoiler, just to be on the safe side. We all have our prejudices and, apparently, this one’s mine.