An Open Letter

Dear Crappy Teenage Driver:

Yeah, you. I know who you are. You think I didn't see you driving mock 90 down my rural residential street. But I did, and I do. Every single freaking time. I have been nice. I have waved you down. I have yelled to slow down, and I have even gone so far as to call your Mother and tell her to reign you in. Which apparently has done nothing to curb your lead foot.

Trust me, Crappy Teenage Driver, I get how exhilarating it is to drive a deadly weapon. I get it. I remember what it was like to be young and fearless and to drive fast and furious. However, now that I'm old and grumpy? It's not OK for you to do it on my street. That dead ends.

Saturday night, CTD, when you drove 65mph down my street and fishtailed at the corner, that was the last straw. I honked my horn to get you to slow down, and that international gesture of brotherhood you tossed me was what threw me over the edge. Yeah. I totally followed you. I may have even exceeded the speed limit.

Yeah. I was pissed. I followed you up into town, all the while talking with the police on my phone. See, here's the deal: My kids play on this street. They ride their bikes, they run back and forth between their friends home and ours... We are teaching them to look both ways, but sometimes they forget. When people drive the speed limit, it gives them time to react to little kids that are still learning. But you? Your egotisical, narcississtic speeding gives no thought to anyone but your thrill-seeking self.

Here's the deal, CTD. I know where you live, and now so do the police. Yeah. I called them. Twice. And believe you me, from now on every time you drive down my street like that, I will call them. I would rather be known as the grumpy lady that lives on Crazy street than the one whose child was run over by a lunatic.

Get used to it, because if you don't change your driving ways, I will press charges. Every. Single. Time. Consider this your fair warning.


Thanks,
~motherboard