OT - Story: Midle of the night driving Rant

It's late at night, and I'm having a tough time with pain. Of
course, Bob is practicing for a gold medal in the World Champion
Annual Snore Festival, a contest he has won for seventeen years
running. Knowing that it's totally illogical and unfair to be ticked
at him for having a good night's sleep while I'm sitting here in
pain, I decided to write abut driving - someting I'd much rather be
doing doing instead of waiting for pain meds to kick in. Besides, it
beats rating the sores coming from the other end of the house.

And yes, I want him to be able to sleep, even if I can't. No house
is big enough for two sleepless, cranky people; and I think I have
that department covered. So, without further ado, here are the three
places I will not drive:
---------------------

There are three places where I would never, ever drive again - and
I'm an experienced Boston driver. I've seen fifteen car accidents,
people duking it out on the median strip and a porta potty all set up
in the middle lane of the highway. Very little frightens me, and
I've been trained to expect anything from any other driver. Even my
lightnig fast reflexes didn't help me in the following places:

1. Paris. I made the mistake of stopping for a red light on a Friday
afternoon in Paris. (Amanda and I were lost, and I thought I'd use
the few moments to help get my bearings) Silly me. All of a sudden,
cars and taxicabs were flowing around me - on the street, on the
sidewalk, on two wheels, you name it. Remember the animal stampede
scene in "The Lion King?" Imagine a woman and a little girl in a
rental car in the middle of the savannah and you have the exact
picture.

BTW, in Paris or any other city with a reputation for tourist car
thefts, I have the solution. Put a car seat, a "happy meal box" and
some motherly looking trash in the vehicle. Grocery bags also work
well, as do bath towels safety pinned to the seats (to keep them from
getting hot). The key is to make it look as if a harried, local mom
just parked the car there for a moment. You know, the kind that
would be sure to show up if a thief stole the car and went to trial.
Not the tourist kind that will take their coverage from Hertz and
skip a trial months late at their own expense.

Amanda and I like to stop at the little quickie mart attached to
any/every gas station and pick out name bumper stickers. Not our
names of course, but the names we've picked for the course of the
vacation. The bumper stickers make the car look local, and cover any
stupid rental car advertising. When we were parked in front of our
hotel in Montparnasse, every vehicle on the street was broken into
but ours. The other cars were all obviously expensive rental cars,
and we had a bottom of the line German-made Ford Ka, complete with
happy meal boxes and empty Diet Cokes. No one bothered with us,
since we were obviously poor and local.

2. Montreal. This one came as a surprise to me, but those people are
totally freaking insane drivers. Maybe it's because they want to be
like the French, but better (see item #1). Or it's because there is
so much salt on the roads up there that they are driving 900 mph to
get where they're going before the cars rust away. Either way, it's
darned scary.

Oh yes, just to add to the fun around Montreal, there are a bunch of
Indian reservations. The people living there have what appear to be
some real gripes, but their way of getting the government's attention
is to light humongous bonfires in the middle of the main roads
leading into Montreal. (which is an island. Close off a few roads,
you close off the city) Perhaps people are afraid of being trapped
in the next revolt on the wrong side of the reservation, so they
drive twice as quickly while passing through. Unless they're buying
tax-free cigarettes or gasoline, in which case they scoot on or off
the road without warning.

Amusningly, the Quebecois try to outdo Parisians in everything -
ncluding a reputation for rudeness. We were treated very kindly in
Paris, although I promised that I wouldn't let word of that to get
around. Montreal, however, was another story. If someone could be
mean to us, they went out of their way to do so. At first I thought
we were wearing secret "kick me" signs, but now I know it's because
we're English speakers aad because they are unusually nasty people.

3. Anywhere in Italy. Put a million cars in a space meant for a
couple of thousand, add a bunch of roads designed 2,000 years ago and
the stereotypical Italian love for a good, loud argument, and you
have driving in Italy. It's like bumper car races without the old
guy telling you that your three minutes are up. Of course, screaming
fights erupt constantly, with old people, passersby, drivers who
weren't involved in the accident and stray dogs all joining in for
the entertainment value. (I've never seen as many stray dogs as I
did in Italy)

Everyone joins in, except the police, of course. They're all back at
the station, steadfastly ignoring calls to direct traffic, because
they are too busy issuing theft reports for tourists to bring to the
American Express office. Heaven forbid they arrest the pickpockets
instead of simply spending their days writing slips and telling
foolish Americans that "it happens all the time."

I think that the only requirement for becoming a police officer in
Italy is a typing test. (for typing those wretched yellow slips of
paper) If you can type more than five words a minute, you're outta
there.

Compared to all these places, driving in Boston is a lark. All we
have are streets laid out by cows (our road pattern is based on old
cow paths, according to folklore), a huge construction project
designed to put fourteen lanes of traffic under the city while
keeping the roads on top still intact, and drivers who think that all
those signs and lights were put there for decoration.

As long as you keep moving, you're fine. Why? Because the city
froze the number of permits for parking spaces back in the early
1970's, concluding that if people had no place to park, they would
leave their cars in the suburbs and take public transportation. It
was a foolish idea, made even more foolish by the corresponding
decision to slash the budget for public transportation. If the
parking idea had actually worked, the city would have imploded,
because there's no way that the buses and trains would have been able
to handle the ridership.

So, the City, continuing in its infinite wisdom, decided to issue
parking permits, so that only residents could utilize scarce spots.
Only two flaws there - It's insanely easy to get a resident parking
permit. Simply present a piece of mail with your name on it and the
address you claim to have, and voila' you're a resident. I knew many
cow orkers who typed an envelope, ran it through the postage meter
and established residency in about fifteen seconds. Not that it
mattered much - there are an infinite number of permits issued for a
very limited number of spaces.

Happily, I live in the 'burbs, where my car has its own little home
in the driveway. Heck - we even have extra off street spots for
company. It's getting a little dull around here though - perhaps I
should try to park my car in someone else's shoveled out spot for a
little excitement. If I park in the North End (Boston's Little
Italy), it'll be remarkably like driving in Rome. Except for the
gypsy pickpocket children, of course.

Kathy N-V
Kathy N-V

Ain't that the truth. Unfortuately.

' Montreal, however, was another story. If someone could be
mean to us, they went out of their way to do so. At first I thought
we were wearing secret "kick me" signs, but now I know it's because
we're English speakers aad because they are unusually nasty people. "

Paula

I related this part of the story to Mike, a Canadian from NB originally, and
he agreed emphatically. Driving through Quebec during a blizzard he was
being passed at 90 MPH while he was doing 30. Cars that passed him would
show up a couple miles down the road in the ditch and the ditches were
filling fast. Its not unique to Quebec, of course, since we see that happen
during ice storms in WI/MN as well.
Diana
ps. whenever I mention your stories, Kathy, all I have to do is call you the
Zeebree lady and Mike knows just who Im talking about. :-)

--
Weird people need beads, too
"Kathy N-V" wrote in message
2. Montreal. This one came as a surprise to me, but those people are
totally freaking insane drivers. Maybe it's because they want to be
like the French, but better (see item #1). Or it's because there is
so much salt on the roads up there that they are driving 900 mph to
get where they're going before the cars rust away. Either way, it's
darned scary.

Oh yes, just to add to the fun around Montreal, there are a bunch of
Indian reservations. The people living there have what appear to be
some real gripes, but their way of getting the government's attention
is to light humongous bonfires in the middle of the main roads
leading into Montreal. (which is an island. Close off a few roads,
you close off the city) Perhaps people are afraid of being trapped
in the next revolt on the wrong side of the reservation, so they
drive twice as quickly while passing through. Unless they're buying
tax-free cigarettes or gasoline, in which case they scoot on or off
the road without warning.

Amusningly, the Quebecois try to outdo Parisians in everything -
ncluding a reputation for rudeness. We were treated very kindly in
Paris, although I promised that I wouldn't let word of that to get
around. Montreal, however, was another story. If someone could be
mean to us, they went out of their way to do so. At first I thought
we were wearing secret "kick me" signs, but now I know it's because
we're English speakers aad because they are unusually nasty people.

You are so right about driving in Montreal! We flew into Montreal and drove
up to Quebec City to vacation. The people in Quebec were really welcoming,
and driving there wasn't that difficult (despite the fact that the roads in
Old Quebec predate automobiles). But driving in the city of Montreal was
definitely an experience.

Last year we went to New York City and just took public transportation
everywhere. It was nice to vacation without a car.



"Kathy N-V" wrote in message
. giganews.com...
It's late at night, and I'm having a tough time with pain. Of
course, Bob is practicing for a gold medal in the World Champion
Annual Snore Festival, a contest he has won for seventeen years
running. Knowing that it's totally illogical and unfair to be ticked
at him for having a good night's sleep while I'm sitting here in
pain, I decided to write abut driving - someting I'd much rather be
doing doing instead of waiting for pain meds to kick in. Besides, it
beats rating the sores coming from the other end of the house.

And yes, I want him to be able to sleep, even if I can't. No house
is big enough for two sleepless, cranky people; and I think I have
that department covered. So, without further ado, here are the three
places I will not drive:
---------------------

There are three places where I would never, ever drive again - and
I'm an experienced Boston driver. I've seen fifteen car accidents,
people duking it out on the median strip and a porta potty all set up
in the middle lane of the highway. Very little frightens me, and
I've been trained to expect anything from any other driver. Even my
lightnig fast reflexes didn't help me in the following places:

1. Paris. I made the mistake of stopping for a red light on a Friday
afternoon in Paris. (Amanda and I were lost, and I thought I'd use
the few moments to help get my bearings) Silly me. All of a sudden,
cars and taxicabs were flowing around me - on the street, on the
sidewalk, on two wheels, you name it. Remember the animal stampede
scene in "The Lion King?" Imagine a woman and a little girl in a
rental car in the middle of the savannah and you have the exact
picture.

BTW, in Paris or any other city with a reputation for tourist car
thefts, I have the solution. Put a car seat, a "happy meal box" and
some motherly looking trash in the vehicle. Grocery bags also work
well, as do bath towels safety pinned to the seats (to keep them from
getting hot). The key is to make it look as if a harried, local mom
just parked the car there for a moment. You know, the kind that
would be sure to show up if a thief stole the car and went to trial.
Not the tourist kind that will take their coverage from Hertz and
skip a trial months late at their own expense.

Amanda and I like to stop at the little quickie mart attached to
any/every gas station and pick out name bumper stickers. Not our
names of course, but the names we've picked for the course of the
vacation. The bumper stickers make the car look local, and cover any
stupid rental car advertising. When we were parked in front of our
hotel in Montparnasse, every vehicle on the street was broken into
but ours. The other cars were all obviously expensive rental cars,
and we had a bottom of the line German-made Ford Ka, complete with
happy meal boxes and empty Diet Cokes. No one bothered with us,
since we were obviously poor and local.

2. Montreal. This one came as a surprise to me, but those people are
totally freaking insane drivers. Maybe it's because they want to be
like the French, but better (see item #1). Or it's because there is
so much salt on the roads up there that they are driving 900 mph to
get where they're going before the cars rust away. Either way, it's
darned scary.

Oh yes, just to add to the fun around Montreal, there are a bunch of
Indian reservations. The people living there have what appear to be
some real gripes, but their way of getting the government's attention
is to light humongous bonfires in the middle of the main roads
leading into Montreal. (which is an island. Close off a few roads,
you close off the city) Perhaps people are afraid of being trapped
in the next revolt on the wrong side of the reservation, so they
drive twice as quickly while passing through. Unless they're buying
tax-free cigarettes or gasoline, in which case they scoot on or off
the road without warning.

Amusningly, the Quebecois try to outdo Parisians in everything -
ncluding a reputation for rudeness. We were treated very kindly in
Paris, although I promised that I wouldn't let word of that to get
around. Montreal, however, was another story. If someone could be
mean to us, they went out of their way to do so. At first I thought
we were wearing secret "kick me" signs, but now I know it's because
we're English speakers aad because they are unusually nasty people.

3. Anywhere in Italy. Put a million cars in a space meant for a
couple of thousand, add a bunch of roads designed 2,000 years ago and
the stereotypical Italian love for a good, loud argument, and you
have driving in Italy. It's like bumper car races without the old
guy telling you that your three minutes are up. Of course, screaming
fights erupt constantly, with old people, passersby, drivers who
weren't involved in the accident and stray dogs all joining in for
the entertainment value. (I've never seen as many stray dogs as I
did in Italy)

Everyone joins in, except the police, of course. They're all back at
the station, steadfastly ignoring calls to direct traffic, because
they are too busy issuing theft reports for tourists to bring to the
American Express office. Heaven forbid they arrest the pickpockets
instead of simply spending their days writing slips and telling
foolish Americans that "it happens all the time."

I think that the only requirement for becoming a police officer in
Italy is a typing test. (for typing those wretched yellow slips of
paper) If you can type more than five words a minute, you're outta
there.

Compared to all these places, driving in Boston is a lark. All we
have are streets laid out by cows (our road pattern is based on old
cow paths, according to folklore), a huge construction project
designed to put fourteen lanes of traffic under the city while
keeping the roads on top still intact, and drivers who think that all
those signs and lights were put there for decoration.

As long as you keep moving, you're fine. Why? Because the city
froze the number of permits for parking spaces back in the early
1970's, concluding that if people had no place to park, they would
leave their cars in the suburbs and take public transportation. It
was a foolish idea, made even more foolish by the corresponding
decision to slash the budget for public transportation. If the
parking idea had actually worked, the city would have imploded,
because there's no way that the buses and trains would have been able
to handle the ridership.

So, the City, continuing in its infinite wisdom, decided to issue
parking permits, so that only residents could utilize scarce spots.
Only two flaws there - It's insanely easy to get a resident parking
permit. Simply present a piece of mail with your name on it and the
address you claim to have, and voila' you're a resident. I knew many
cow orkers who typed an envelope, ran it through the postage meter
and established residency in about fifteen seconds. Not that it
mattered much - there are an infinite number of permits issued for a
very limited number of spaces.

Happily, I live in the 'burbs, where my car has its own little home
in the driveway. Heck - we even have extra off street spots for
company. It's getting a little dull around here though - perhaps I
should try to park my car in someone else's shoveled out spot for a
little excitement. If I park in the North End (Boston's Little
Italy), it'll be remarkably like driving in Rome. Except for the
gypsy pickpocket children, of course.

Kathy N-V
Kathy N-V

Dear Kathy;

I really enjoy your online stories - I admit that I have even done a
search to go back and read some of them! I am sorry that you have such
pain, especially when you give such enjoyment!! Someday you should
take all your online story posts and put them into a book - your short
life stories are wonderful!!!

Thank you
Denise R
Glitzy Glass Studio
www.needbeads.com
www.glassbeadz.com

I related this part of the story to Mike, a Canadian from NB
originally, and he agreed emphatically. Driving through Quebec during a
blizzard he was being passed at 90 MPH while he was doing 30. Cars that
passed him would show up a couple miles down the road in the ditch and
the ditches were filling fast. Its not unique to Quebec, of course,
since we see that happen during ice storms in WI/MN as well.

Oh hell yeah!!!! I grew up in Central PA, right off I-81. I would cringe
any time I saw a Quebec license plate. They'd just as soon run you off
the road if you're not driving fast enough (which isn't usually a
problem for me LOL) and the concept of turn signals is totally alien to
them. grrrrr

KarenK

the concept of turn signals is totally alien to
them. grrrrr

Maybe cars in Quebec aren't equipped with turn signals, LOL.

...Stephanie..

Just have to put my 2c's in here. I'd have to say that in all the
driving I've seen in the states the WORST drivers I ever saw were in
Salt Lake City. Even LA wasn't that bad (at least they understood "law
of tonnage" {80,000 lbs vs 3000lbs}) Or Chicago (just remember to watch
for low underpasses) New York? Atlanta? Dallas/Ft Worth? Piece of
cake. Just don't ask me to find anything in Portland, OR. I'm
garaunteed to get lost there (for some reason I just suffer from
permanent brain farts there)

Later,

Helen C

Stephanie wrote:
the concept of turn signals is totally alien to
them. grrrrr

Maybe cars in Quebec aren't equipped with turn signals, LOL.

..Stephanie..

I'd have to say that in all the driving I've seen in the states the WORST
drivers I ever saw were in Salt Lake City.

I totally agree with you!! Do you realize that we used to NOT require a
driving test at all before giving a license? All that was needed was a
parent's or guardian's assurance that the person had driven at least 30 hours,
10 hours of that in the dark. When it became painfully obvious that so many
people here really could NOT drive worth a damn, they started to require a
driving test AND and at least 40 hours driving experience. I sure hope it
helps - it certainly can't hurt!!



Carol in SLC
New stuff: http://members.aol.com/carolinslc/kalera2.jpg

"Kathy N-V" wrote:


2. Montreal. This one came as a surprise to me, but those people are
totally freaking insane drivers. Maybe it's because they want to be
like the French, but better (see item #1). Or it's because there is
so much salt on the roads up there that they are driving 900 mph to
get where they're going before the cars rust away. Either way, it's
darned scary.

Then why the heck do they come to Florida in the winter and totally screw up
traffic by driving slow?????

Linda2