Dear Sir or Madam,
To begin, let me point out that I address you as ‘Sir or Madam’ merely because from the vantage point of my rear-view mirror, I can only see one of your vehicle’s headlights and a portion of its grill. I do not use both salutations because I consider your appearance to be androgynous, and I certainly am not being imprecise because I openly question your sexuality. Neither of those perceptions on your part would be helpful in focusing your attention on the two actual points of this missive, which — in the interest of time — I now elucidate.
I have submitted a petition on your behalf for admittance to a special circle of Hell reserved exclusively for chronic, stupid, tailgaters.
You may not be aware of it, but you are driving far too close to my car’s rear bumper relative to the rate of speed at which we are traveling. This action — known to those of us who have taken a driver’s examination as tailgating — is endangering not only my life, but the lives of all of those around me. I find your action to be reckless; unwarranted; and (quite candidly) perplexing; as I do not know what you hope to obtain from it. There are somewhere in the neighborhood of five thousand cars ahead of us on this highway, and an equal number in the lane to our left that are all moving at the same speed as you and I. From my vantage point (which I re-iterate is uncomfortably close to your own at the moment), you have absolutely nothing to gain from your wanton endangerment.
Perhaps you feel that you have a greater entitlement to the road than the rest of us and you want us to know of your contempt by creating a sense of menace to those who stand in your way. Or maybe you lack the personal discipline to drive as you know you should. Possibly, you do not care how you treat others as long as you get what you want, which, at this moment, appears to be a coordinated effort on the part of ten thousand drivers to merge all vehicles except yours into a single lane of traffic so you may pass without hindrance.
Of course, at this point, I no longer care why. While others might have chosen to respond to your maddening lack of respect for your fellow beings with a rude gesture or a harsh slamming of brakes, I have picked a different course of action. I have submitted a petition on your behalf for admittance to a special circle of Hell reserved exclusively for chronic, stupid, tailgaters. If my petition is accepted, you will, upon shuffling off your mortal coil, spend one hour of each day being force fed asphalt and ground up tires; one hour of each day drinking gasoline; one hour shitting flaming tar on the hood of your vehicle, and the remaining twenty-one hours washing it off with your tongue.
I realize that wishing such an awful thing upon someone — even under the stressful circumstances you are so thoughtlessly creating with your hazardous conduct — is harsh. Therefore, in the event that you are simply having a bad day I offer the following ‘get out of Hell free’ card:
If you can spend one calendar month’s time consciously attempting to observe a proper following distance while driving at speeds over 55 kph (it doesn’t matter if you have the distance in meters just right; I’m only suggesting honest and thoughtful effort in the matter), my curse is lifted.
Personally, I would prefer that you succeed in removing the curse as, after a month of actually trying to be courteous and respectful while driving, you will no doubt find it satisfying to make the roads we share safer and less stress-filled for yourself and others. You might even notice that your responsible driving is actually increasing the speed at which we all arrive at our destinations and influencing others to drive more safely, as well.
But, in the event you are unwilling to try such a trivial thing for such an insignificant period of time to contribute to the betterment of us all, well… to Hell with you.
NOTE: This post originally ran on kreisle.com on November 27, 2007. When kreisle.com “fell over” it was believed to have been lost forever. Turns out the wayback machine remembers stuff.