Data Gathering: Douchemobiles

run away I fell into revising Agent Trinity yesterday with a vengeance. It’s a relief when the engines click over and I slide wholly back into a story, all my resources focused on the task in front of me. Of course, this usually means little things like feeding children and animals but forgetting to feed myself, but who cares? It’s story time! At least I got a shower in.

Small mercies, right?

The clouds are back today, and the relief is near indescribable. Sunshine just drives everyone mad around here. They start piloting their cars as if they’re in a video game, and do other strange things. It’s as if some fungal thing settled in their brain-creases is being slowly destroyed by the heat and glare, and the concomitant destruction of gray matter makes them into jerky marionettes.

Now there’s a story idea.

However, the sudden return of sanity has not extended to some specific groups. Case in point? There’s a sign at the middle school: “RIGHT TURN ONLY DURING PICKUP/DROPOFF AND SPECIAL EVENTS!” Seems pretty simple, right? Turn right onto the four-lane street, there are more than enough ways to get back to the main arteries after one does so. When the directions are followed, morning dropoff goes very smoothly.

Unfortunately, there are also special snowflakes who are either illiterate (and driving!), blind (and driving!), or very certain the rules don’t apply to them. My somewhat informal data-gathering on this point has returned something interesting: a good 80-85% of the time, the cars who wait to turn left, snarling up everything behind them and just generally acting like douchemobiles, fall into three distinct kinds. In descending order, they are:

* Various makes of Lexus
* Cadillac Escalades
* Various makes of Acuras

Strange, isn’t it? Those three groups comprise the overwhelming majority of douchenozzles I encounter while dropping the Little Prince off. Of the remainder, the biggest group is VERY LARGE TRUCKS, piloted by middle-aged men. I shall leave the obligatory “compensating for something” jokes to your imagination.

I am tempted now to tally the other bad behavior I see in the school parking lot, just to see if the pattern holds true. According to my (admittedly unscientific) recollections, though, it seems minivans with harried mothers are the rudest inside the lot itself, while the douchebaggery at the stop sign falls into other discrete groups.

Of course, I turn to data-gathering because it distracts me from perhaps uttering a curse or two upon the head of any specific jackass in the parking lot on any specific morning. I don’t want to waste my mojo on what are, in the grand scheme of things, Very Small Potatoes.

Still, it’s irritating, especially when one has to explain to a teenage boy why politeness is the best policy after all. And when it is keeping one from work that needs doing, it rather frays one’s nerves.

I believe I need tea. Onward and upward, I guess.