Tuesday, June 28, 2016

The Mystery Machine

What Mark thinks his Ford looks like.

We're driving over to Big Chicks for dollar burger night. Mark is at the wheel.
"Move that damn Scooby van." He screams. "Why would anybody need a giant vehicle like that? How tiny is your dick mister? Look at her, she's texting." (Mark refers to every driver in the feminine) "Bitch, mooooooooove! The light isn't going to stay green all day."

I've created a monster. I insisted that Mark start driving more so that he would get used to the narrow streets and aggressive drivers here in Chicago. Now he is one of those aggressive drivers. If I had a bucket of water in the car, I would throw it on him just to cool him down. Mark honestly scares me when he drives. I try to remind him that almost everybody in Chicago has a gun in their pocket, but still he screams out the window at them and cuts people off in traffic. He truly has the Chicago "fuck you, I was here first" driving style down. What he hasn't figured out yet are the narrow streets. Mark always thinks he is going to hit the cars on either side of him or run into things that are easily ten feet off to the side. I have told him over and over again that the Ford is not twenty feet wide, that he has plenty of room spare. Still, he freaks out. He freaks out even more when I drive, because I tend to squeeze through the smallest gaps, almost kissing the other car's door handles. But I'm not worried, I have visually measured the Ford's width and I'm pretty sure it looks like this.

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