Lounging around a small round table in a tea cafe, drinking taro milk tea with pearls - my favorite, I was explaining to someone why an Asian woman was the worst driver ever. He had heard some people talk about this, so I explained why: From an American perspective, Asians are the worst drivers (DWA as they say, driving while Asian), stereotypically speaking, along with owning dry cleaning establishments, knowing martial arts, being really smart, and having no social skills whatsoever, such as men being incompetent with women. There's billions of Asians in the world, y'all. We know what we're doin'. And I won't even mention the old standby that Asian men have small penises. Dammit! (Couldn't I have just delete that?)
Then I explained, from the same perspective, that female drivers are worse than male drivers. So when you have an Asian female driver, you're combining the worse of both worlds. And sometimes I feel like a bad driver because I'll make make a U-turn where it's not allowed (wink, wink). Oh, that's what a red slash through a U-turn symbol means? Then I found illegal street racing in Hong Kong on youtube. Say what? Now you gotta be thinkin' these guys are the slowest freakin' racers who can't handle a turn let alone a woman. But check this out:
In another post I had mentioned that I had bought my midlife crisis caR. I bought a set of new tires, BF Goodrich Sport Comp-2's that were engineered specifically for...how do I say this...driving like a psycho. After getting them mounted, I thought I'd go and give my new tires a try, break them in, drive the hell outta my caR. I'd been driving for about ten minutes and felt the tires were warm enough to push the tachometer into red line. And, yeah, for an econo-sports caR, the engine revs to 8600 RPM, and if it wasn't for the rev limiter, I'd be able to touch nine grand. It's one of the things this particular caR is known for.
Stopped at a single lane stoplight, I felt a little antsy. And the silver Mercedes in front of me had been driving slow for most of my warm up. So, when the light blinked from red to green, I slammed the pedal to the metal - well to the carpeted floor - and I swerved into the right shoulder. My caR's engine screamed passed the Mercedes and into redline. I yanked the shifter into second gear before I hit the rev limiter, popped the clutch, and my caR jerked forward as the hot BF's soft rubber compound seemed to melt into the ground, giving me grip like a desperate man hanging onto a hot woman. Then as if that woman told you to stop after you're hot and bothered, the approaching light turned red. The Mercedes stopped next to me, and the old man shook his head with disapproval. Aw. Did he think I was some young rice-drivin' punk? Hell naw. I'm a middle-aged rice-drivin' punk!
One morning I was driving to work on a long straightaway, and a car had cut me off. For some reason, I just wasn't in the turn-the-other-cheek mood. So I cut off another car to go into the next lane, mashed my gas pedal, and pulled up next to the offending car. How dare he cut me off! Do I ever cut people off? On purpose?
One of the things I do when I see someone make a mistake driving is see if they're Asian. When they are, I shake my head because it only perpetuates that myth. However, if they're white, then I punch my fist in the air, defending my slanty-eyed pride.
So as I was pulling up next to the car that had cut me off, I was going to do an unspeakable act. So I won't say what it is, but I'll type it: mean mug. I know. I'm tough, mean-mugging someone in the safety of my car, protected by the moving road between us. As I get a better glimpse of who it was, I lurched forward, turned my head and...say what! That was my sister! She cut me off! Facepalm. I slink back into my seat, shake my head, and decide never to mention this to her. She'll never know, unless she reads this post.