I was at one of the Valero gas stations in Littleton, Colorado Thursday where I gassed my 2015 Dodge Dart. |After paying inside for fuel (cash), I noticed a young man with a Toyota Camry-which is a formidable vehicle in its own right.
“How fast can that thing go?” I asked him.
“I don’t know,” he answered.
“The fuck you mean you don’t know? Don’t you ever floor that car?”
“I’ll get a ticket.”
“Yeah? And? How old are you, kid?”
“Oh, my fucking God! You’re supposed to get speeding tickets at nineteen! I got ’em all the time in L.A. when I was your age (1989)! Why do you think the car insurance is so high for those under 25?!”
Is this what our young men have become-afraid to go .5 past light speed?
Shouldn’t we let boys be boys and let them hit the pavement a few times before they finally realize that getting a speeding ticket is too expensive? While it might be true that he may already know that, what caught my attention most was his tone of voice, because he sounded like a little lamb that was on its way to a slaughterhouse.
“Well, next time, I do it-just for you,” he promised.
“Doubt it,” I countered.
I drove a 1977 Pontiac Grand Prix when I was 19. Even the young guys who souped up their Hondas fifteen years ago weren’t afraid to go past the century mark, but I don’t know about this generation. It seems as though their wings have been clipped-and that’s sad.