Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2002-04-29 11:31 pm
azurelunatic) wrote2002-04-29 11:31 pm
Tailgating
It's wrong and evil and it should be stopped.
My ex BJ used to tailgate. He considered the speed limit signs to be showing the minimum speed that one should be driving at, and would get irate at the people in front of him driving a safe and sane speed (at or under the limit) and would tailgate, fuss, fume, and curse.
We had just one car at that time: Bonnie, my cute little red '87 Toyota Tercel stationwagon. We lived about ten miles out of town, about ten miles from the bus system. In Alaska. We worked different shifts at Sam's Club: I worked bakery, five to one; he was Maintainence, afternoon shift. He would drive me to work and go back home until his shift; I'd take the car home and come back to pick him up at the end of his shift.
I told him in no uncertain terms that either he would become a polite driver, obey the posted speed signs, and cease with the tailgating, or he would no longer drive my car.
For the remainder of his time with me, his driving attitude changed remarkably.
Unfortunately, it was not a lasting effect. Last reliable contact with him, he mentioned an encounter with an officer or five of the law. He might have spent a night or so in gaol, but he managed to make himself so thoroughly obnoxious that he was kicked out of the police station. Not difficult at all for him to do: while he and I were still friends back in high school (before the romance) he and I would spend hours on the telephone. Every now and then, I would get fed up with him, hang up, and instruct my mother that if he called back, that I was not at home.
One would think that he might learn.
My ex BJ used to tailgate. He considered the speed limit signs to be showing the minimum speed that one should be driving at, and would get irate at the people in front of him driving a safe and sane speed (at or under the limit) and would tailgate, fuss, fume, and curse.
We had just one car at that time: Bonnie, my cute little red '87 Toyota Tercel stationwagon. We lived about ten miles out of town, about ten miles from the bus system. In Alaska. We worked different shifts at Sam's Club: I worked bakery, five to one; he was Maintainence, afternoon shift. He would drive me to work and go back home until his shift; I'd take the car home and come back to pick him up at the end of his shift.
I told him in no uncertain terms that either he would become a polite driver, obey the posted speed signs, and cease with the tailgating, or he would no longer drive my car.
For the remainder of his time with me, his driving attitude changed remarkably.
Unfortunately, it was not a lasting effect. Last reliable contact with him, he mentioned an encounter with an officer or five of the law. He might have spent a night or so in gaol, but he managed to make himself so thoroughly obnoxious that he was kicked out of the police station. Not difficult at all for him to do: while he and I were still friends back in high school (before the romance) he and I would spend hours on the telephone. Every now and then, I would get fed up with him, hang up, and instruct my mother that if he called back, that I was not at home.
One would think that he might learn.