Dont Mince Words

Ever notice how geezers will wax nostalgic about some car they used to have decades before? Last night, as my life flashed before me, I fondly thought of my Jetta and nearly shed a tear.

That five-speed was spunky and the turning radius could have been envied by the NYPD. What I loved most about it was the sunroof. When I moved to Manhattan, keeping the car was impractical between garage fees and insurance. Regretfully, I sold the Jetta.

Last night I was coming down Fountain near Highland in my stodgy, unfun Honda Accord when some dumb bitch in a fucking LANCER decided to pull out of the left lane and in front of me. Not really the smart thing to do in Friday traffic in a construction zone with gravel.

I slammed on my breaks and fishtailed like a pickup truck on black ice. I did something else Angelinos don’t do often. I honked. I laid on that thing until the smell of burnt rubber dissipated. Miss Lancer gave me the whoops wave. That’s when I began my gesturing. Both hands in the air, I looked like an Italian flipping pizza dough.

This is the moment I missed my Jetta. Because that’s when the sunroof would open and my middle finger would be in the periscope up position. Sometimes I’d wave it side to side through the roof for minor infractions. However, Miss Lancer would have deserved the vertical up/down fuck-you-dumb-female-driver-giving-us-all-a-bad name gesture.

Ah, those were the Jetta days.

Since I have no sunroof in the Accord, I high beamed Miss Lancer until she took the 101 off ramp. That’s when I gave her one final honk. Hopefully she’s learned her lesson: during rush hour in Hollywood, there’s going to be someone in the other lane. I learned you can never be too young to remember great cars.