I Don't Drive Anymore

Back when my sister was first learning to drive, she used to slow way down while driving down Main Street and I'd jump and roll out of the car, and then chase her and try to jump back in.  We also tried out me steering while she drove down the highway at 60 miles an hour with her eyes closed.  

Once I got my driver's license, I was very concerned about roadkill and kept a shovel in the back of the station wagon so that I could pull over on those country roads and give the animals a proper burial.  The first time I ever tried it I retched so hard at the smell of rotting raccoon that I never did it again.  

On the other hand, I did stop to save a baby bird and had to watch it get run over by someone else instead.  I also stopped to help a cat that had been hit by a car and once a coyote pup that I thought was a dog, which resulted in a massive dressing-down from the park ranger who told me in graphic detail what rabies shots were like and that if the coyote had rabies they would have to put my dog down (who had been in the back seat of the car) because they don't have rabies shots for dogs.

Once, on a road trip to Texas, in which I drove for 28 hours straight, I saw a drunk driver weave in and out of traffic behind me, then cut me off and drive straight off the road into a signpost.

On my second drive into Chicago, I stopped before an intersection because there was traffic ahead and I couldn't get through it before the light turned red.  A man started honking, I flipped him off and he went apeshit, drove into oncoming traffic to pull up beside my car and scream through his open window at me until the light turned green again.  I sold my car and I've only driven about five times in the last seven years.

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