Andy’s October of Suckage: Day 3
Note: I forgot to hit “Publish” before I went to bed last night. I have, as promised, socked myself in the left nut.
Maybe I didn’t notice this phenomenon as much in California, but it seems as if every other car in Georgia has some sort of signage (magnetic or otherwise) or paint-job (not poo-on-dick) that’s advertising the driver’s small business. In most cases these aren’t even company vehicles like delivery vans or work trucks; they’re just someone’s family car with a bunch of cheap stick-on lettering affixed to it.
On the one hand, I can’t help thinking “Jesus. These fucking eyesores are everywhere.” On the other hand, you kind of have to hand it to these small business people. They clearly have a dream but not much budget, and they’re doing the best they can to boost business.
That said, I’d like to tell you all about a few that don’t seem to grasp certain nuances, namely that one should not drive around with one’s company name plastered all over one’s vehicle, then break the law in that vehicle.
A while back, my wife and I were sitting in gridlock on a side-street near our house. This particular street is always backed up for miles during the evening rush hour. The road has a single lane in each direction with a suicide lane in the middle, and it’s simply not designed to handle the amount of cars that actually use it. If you are from the area you just know you have to deal with it.
Unless you work for Scotts LawnService, that is.
We watched as a service truck pulled into the suicide lane and proceeded to speed down the road until we lost sight of it around the next bend. At that point it had traveled at least half a mile, which is more than 8 times father than one can legally drive in a left-turn lane in Georgia (300 ft). By the way, one of the local towns claims that 10% of their traffic accidents are caused by people abusing this lane. Nice.
Kudos, Scotts. You clearly value my neighbors’ deep green, weed-free lawns more than you value my neighbors.
On to the next paragon on advertising know-how.
I was sitting at a red light in a left turn lane on a major artery in a shopping district. The three oncoming lanes had the green light and I and the car in front of me had a red arrow. Not only is the 45 mph speed limit on this street regularly exceeded, but the light we were sitting at is just below the crest of a hill you can’t see over. Take a guess what the genius driving the car plastered with signage for All or Nothing Tattoo did.
Nope. He didn’t gun the engine and fly through an illegal left turn.
He pulled slowly out into the intersection, then crept across all 3 oncoming lanes. It was almost as if he closed his eyes and tried each oncoming lane in turn to see if it would kill him, proceeding to the next when each failed to end his existence. Somehow he timed this nail-bitingly stupid move for the only lengthy break in traffic. It was almost as if Moses was on the other side of the hill holding up his staff to let this idiot cross Red Sea Road.
For the record, my left turn light went green about a minute after the tattoo guy made it through. That’s exactly the guy I want applying permanent art to my body with a needle that pierces my skin. The guy who would risk lives to save 60 seconds.
Anyways, as I typically do, I’ve saved the best for last.
I was on the freeway in moderate traffic the other day, doing the standard slow-and-go commute crap when I saw a big red pickup come flying up my ass. It proceeded to tailgate me for about a mile until the lane to my left had a tiny opening, at which point it quickly switched and began to tailgate in that lane. When I failed to close a one pickup-length gap between me and the car in front of me, the pickup rocketed back into my lane and proceeded to tailgate the next unfortunate driver.
Then, just like the Ace of Base, I saw The Sign and it read “Santa Jack”. I shit you not.
This continued at least until I pulled off at my exit 15 minutes later, at which point the pickup was 3 cars in front of me. Santa was driving like a fucking prick, risking an accident in heavy traffic with every ill-advised move, and it wasn’t even Christmas Eve!
I went home and looked up the website that had been plastered all over the truck, mainly because I wanted to send Santa Jack an email along the lines of:
All I want for Christmas that redneck assholes who’re trying to market themselves for kids events not drive like retards on the highways where I and my fellow target market might be driving said kids to said events.
One of the people you tailgated today
PS: Thanks for putting your business name on your truck. I usually never get to know the asshole’s name or how to contact him.
Somehow Santa Jack had pulled off the elusive double-fail by making sure it was only pissed-off people who would visit his unusable business website. That’s like hanging two signs in your store window: one that says “Open” and the other that says “Get off my property, motherfucker!”