On Paul Walker And Driving Like A Shithead
Yesterday afternoon, around 3:30, two kids in a Dodge Neon with one of those shit-ass muffler thingies sped down the road in my little half-circle development trying to drift on the corners. Several small children live here, by the way, and are often playing outside. The idiots then came back for a second pass before I burst out of my house and caught their plate number while they gawked at me like I’m the asshole as they sped away. They’re just driving their car, man? What’s the big deal?
Which brings me to Paul Walker‘s death and how no one’s talking about the American mindset on cars.
Before I even get into this, let me just say that, yes, I know Paul Walker was universally considered a nice guy who did things like secretly pay for a soldier’s engagement ring. And, yes, I know that he wasn’t driving the Porsche that left him dead last Saturday afternoon. And, no, this isn’t a post where I say I’m glad he’s dead and left behind a daughter to drive up clicks. (Please don’t Google the person who did write exactly that because then I’ll regret even typing that sentence.) But, here’s the rub, Paul Walker was part of a culture where driving a car however you want is more important than other people’s lives. Because here’s what we do know:
– The crash occurred at three in the afternoon on a public street.
– The Porsche was still going at least 90 mph on said street, so the fact they weren’t racing is irrelevant.
– There were doughnut marks found near the crash, and Roger Rodas and Paul Walker routinely tested out cars on the street for fun and profit to “see what they could do.”
So regardless of the fact that the Porsche that killed them explodes if a squirrel farts, these two have a history of driving like assholes on streets where people are just trying to get from Point A to Point B. And, no, I’m not trying to issue a referendum on your average, run of the mill speeding because even I just got popped doing 70 in a 55 on the turnpike. I’m talking about the very American mentality of, “This is my car, and I’m gonna drive it how I want,” because we’re a selfish, drooling toddler of a nation that’s running around the department store of the world unsupervised and yelling “CAR GO VROOM, GUN GO BANG!” So if you’re wondering why I haven’t really said much about Paul Walker’s death, it’s not that I’m glad he died, unlike Andrew Breitbart, it’s that I’m not entirely broken up when someone who recklessly drives a steel murderbox on wheels bites it, and I don’t really get why anyone who’s not an immediate family member would be either because fuck these idiots.
Fortunately, the lessons of Paul’s lifestyle won’t be lost on his fans, and they’ll move forward into a new age of respect for others and vehicular safety.
Or do burn-outs and doughnuts at the crash site before speeding away. Just nuke us. Somebody nuke us.