The Green Red Green (6 page)

Now, of course, we all have electric-start riding mowers. That’s progress. They’re way easier to start and they do a better, faster cutting job. The downside is that when something goes wrong you have no idea how to fix it, and that makes you feel weak and out of control. Plus, when you nail your brother in the groinal area with one of those babies, it can be serious.

S
he scrimped and saved her own money for two years to buy that car. She did not give you permission to drive it. But you just had to go behind her back and take it for a drive anyway, didn’t you? And you just had to go to a lumberyard and pick up two sheets of drywall and then try to jam them into that tiny little hatchback. And you just had to rip the upholstery on the roof. Now what are you going to tell her? Well, you’re not going to tell her anything. Not yet. First you have to ditch the drywall, hop back in the car, and go pick up her three nephews. Yes, those three rotten, destructive children of Satan. Take them out somewhere for ice cream and pop and chocolate. Lots of chocolate. And make sure they spend at least an hour in her car. By the time those hyenas are done, your rip on the roof liner’s going to look like an afterthought. That’ll get you off the hook. How can she get mad at you? You were just trying to give her nephews a treat. It’s not your fault they’re destructive, nasty little sociopaths. They’re family.

I
need to talk to all you ladies out there to help you understand why we men do the things we do. For example, why won’t we stop and ask for directions when we’re lost? It all comes down to pride. We’re out there driving around in our own vehicle, burning gas, wearing sunglasses, looking good. People who see us
driving by would never guess that we have no idea where we are. And we don’t want to tell them.

A man doesn’t enjoy the thought of going up to total strangers and saying, “You may not know this, but I’m a moron.” In contrast, the woman he’s travelling with is often eager to share this knowledge with the world. It somehow eases her burden.

To a woman, getting lost on a trip is a blameless act of nature; to a man, it’s a personal failure. He knew where he was when he left home, but he doesn’t know where he is now. Somewhere along the way, he crossed the line from the world he knows into the world he doesn’t know. This is how he felt when he got married or had kids. If he admits he’s lost in the car, he’ll have to admit that he’s lost everywhere, and that’s way too much to ask. So just bite your tongue and circle the block a few more times. Men aren’t lost—they just go the long way round.

W
hat are we all looking for as we drive down the highway of life? A decent place to park.

You’re a kid. All you have to park is your butt.

You’re a teenager and you park with a girl who has a good chance of becoming your future wife.

You’re married with kids and are parking a minivan at the McDonald’s with the play area.

The kids are grown and working at McDonald’s. You’ve got a sports car and are caught parking with a girl who has no chance of becoming your future wife. This leads immediately to …

You’re parking in the garage, where you’re also living for a while.

You’re old—no car, no licence, no parking spot.

You’re parked. Permanently. In your own space. Even has your name over it.

I
was watching one of those biography shows on television this week, and they called this particular guy an “extraordinary man.” I was intimidated. But on the other hand, my wife says being a man isn’t a particularly high calling. So being an “extraordinary” one might be even worse.

Let’s break the word down: “extra”—which means superfluous, waste, one too many (I’ve been there)—and “ordinary”—which means common, average, nothing special. When you put them together, you get “extraordinary,” which must mean being completely average in a totally superfluous way.

So I’ve decided that I am extraordinary too. And so are most of my friends. I’m just amazed that somebody like me became the subject of a television show.

A
ttention ladies—men are drawn to machines like moths to a flame. Especially if the machine is broken. However, when a woman has a broken machine, the last thing she needs is an interfering guy who has no idea what he’s doing. It’s fine if that guy is her husband or her neighbour, because then she knows he’s an idiot and can keep him away. But with strangers, it can be hard to tell. So here are some signs that indicate this guy has no idea what he’s doing:

I
know that we have a lot of young people out there reading this book as some sort of punishment, so here are a few tips on driving from someone a little older who’s been down the road a time or two.

Let’s say you’ve just got your driver’s licence and you’re excited as heck about that, and the next thing you know, you’ve stolen a car. And naturally you go over to your high school to do a little showing off—doing doughnuts and figure eights in the flowerbeds, up on two wheels and then in through the front doors so you can peel rubber up and down the halls. I know that may sound like a lot of fun, but please play it smart: wear your seat belt.

I
know a lot of you teenagers would kill to have your own car, but I’m hoping that won’t be necessary. Cheap cars are always available through one of those drug lord used car dealers or the police, or if that fails, just call up the hospital and see if anybody who’s in intensive care would like to sell their car. You’ll find something—just as long as you’re not picky about the make or the colour or the stains on the seats. Once you get the car, fill out the insurance form and list your grandmother as principal driver. Get yourself a part-time job at the gas station and take a couple
of gallons of your work home with you every night. Make friends with one of the ratchetheads in auto shop and date a girl with money and you’ll have the best summer of your life. And you’ll have some great stories to tell the judge in traffic court.

Y
oung people, it’s me again. I know a lot of you feel you have to rebel and be obnoxious and embarrass your parents in restaurants, but that’s just a normal part of growing up and finding your place in the world, especially when your parents throw you out. Whereas getting a tattoo is stupid.

Now, I don’t mean one of those temporary transfer dealies in the box of Crunchie Critters. I’m talking about a carnival-booth, skin-carved, sober-up-and-scream-about-it tattoo. A tattoo is basically a liquid sliver. And the liquid is permanent ink. Getting a tattoo is like sucking on a pen with your whole body.

And it’s painful. There are only two things more painful than getting a tattoo: getting two tattoos, and getting either of them removed. Maybe there’s some appeal in getting “Guns N’ Roses” tattooed on your butt, but sixty years from now, in the middle of your hemorrhoid operation, you’re going to find out why it’s not a good idea to get your surgeon laughing.

S
ometimes when a man reaches middle age, he gets a little full of himself. Maybe he’s been reasonably successful at work, has a nice home and family, and hasn’t raised any convicted felons,
so he starts thinking that he knows it all. This ticks off everyone around him, and ironically, he’s the last one to notice. So watch for the following signs that indicate you’re getting obnoxious:

J
ust as your clothes and your grooming and your gun collection define who you are, so does your driving. The meek shall inherit the slow lane. Drive with attitude.

Nothing says “man on the go” like sixty feet of blue smoke and a neighbourhood-piercing squeal. Sure, it cuts down on tread life, but hey, there’s a lot of rubber on those tires and you don’t
know how long you’ll be driving—what with the price of gas and the licence suspensions.

If your car doesn’t have the power to spin the tires, crimp the rear brake lines and rev her up with your foot on the brake pedal. The front wheels will hold her back and the back tires will be screaming like a banshee. (Not recommended for front-wheel-drive vehicles.)

Laying a black streak across the road is more than just decorative—you can use peeling rubber to intimidate other motorists. When you’re at a red light, step on the brake (see above) and rev the engine until the tachometer needle moves as far as it can in a clockwise direction, preferably disappearing below the bottom edge of the control panel. Then jerk your foot off the clutch so that it pops up. Hang on to the steering wheel and hold your breath until the smell dies down, just as you do in your normal daily activities. Release the brake and try to stay on the road. Don’t worry about other drivers—they usually get out of the way. Just another upside when you’re driving with attitude.

Speeding is a natural phenomenon. People who aren’t sure where they’re going must speed to arrive on time. Driving is an entrepreneurial process, full of negotiation and strategic positioning, with no limits. Especially not speed limits. Speed limits are the result of a lack of speeders. If everybody speeds, the government will raise the limit. Remember how the government got rid of prohibition and the death penalty? And how much that helped your family? Every time you get a speeding ticket, your fellow drivers are letting you down. They need to tap into that “pedal to the metal” attitude. You’ll never hit a car you’ve already passed, so put the hammer down. And if you get caught, I never heard of you.

It’s a natural progression from speeding to the subject of tailgating. There is no better way to inform another driver that he’s not going fast enough and has become a hazard to traffic than for you to rest your hood ornament up against his trunk lid. To tailgate properly, you should be able to read all the dials on the other guy’s dashboard. The sweat on the back of his neck is another sign that you’re close enough.

After various turn signals and hand signals, he should pull over and let you pass, but even if he doesn’t, his slipstream is helping your gas mileage, and you can turn off your own headlights and just use his. The only way you can have an accident is if you’re not following closely enough. As long as you’re resting against him, you can’t possibly collide with him.

Occasionally a highway is under construction or there’s been an accident or the police are pulling cars over because they can, and this often means that two lanes of traffic have to merge into one. Some drivers believe this should be done in a fair, orderly way, but who has that kind of time? Instead, cruise onto the shoulder and rocket past all the cars, and then cut in front of somebody, and then wave thanks. Now and then, you’ll find yourself embroiled in a game of chicken, where the guy you’re trying to cut off recklessly speeds up so you can’t get in. In this situation, always try to cut off a car that’s more valuable than yours. And better maintained. If you’re a lodge member, you should have plenty of choices.

The most effective way to drive with attitude is to focus all your concentration on the three basic fundamentals: the gas, the brakes, and the steering. Don’t let yourself get distracted by the peripheral controls, like the horn, the windshield wipers, the lights, and the turn signals. Keep them guessing. In the Information Age, the more data you keep to yourself, the more power you have. So drive fast, drive hard, and always carry your insurance agent’s home number.