An Open Letter to the Person Texting Behind the Wheel.
I noticed you. I
realized you slowed down suddenly, and weaved ever so slightly. We all know now what that means. Sure enough, as I pulled next to you, you
were texting. I watched you, and stayed
next to you. For 10 seconds. The entire way down that hill, you had your
face lowered, eyes off the road, counting on your peripheral vision and
youthful confidence that you would be OK.
I honked my horn, and you looked up, startled. I shook my head at you in reproach, and you
looked at me like I was an absolute asshole.
No, young man, I just wanted to remind you of
something. The road is more important
than whatever is happening on that phone, unless your significant other just
gave birth…and then I still want you to cheer but lay your fucking phone down
and wait to text her back until you can pull over. Safely.
I wanted you to stop at the gas station, or at the
supermarket, so I could tell you something.
You didn’t, so here is what I wanted to say.
You don’t know me, but I’m going to tell you something
important, something lifechanging, because if you were my son, I’d want someone
to do this for me. Look, I know I’m a
stranger, but I’m going to start with this sentence: “I love you.”
Now don't go all weird, there’s more than one reason for me to say that. First, you’re a person, like me, and I honor
your place in this world and the potential you bear for awesomeness. Second, I’m saying it for your parents,
siblings, significant other, and future children. They love you, or did, or will. I’m old enough to be your father, so please,
let me give you a wee bit of fatherly advice.
It takes just one moment of inattention to die.
All it takes is someone running a light, swerving to avoid a
deer, slamming the brakes because a wine bottle exploded, having a blowout, crossing
the median toward you, or any of a million other crazy things that require us
to keep our eyes on the road at 50mph.
At 50, if you hit a stationary object, you could fucking die. Like that semi truck 3 cars ahead? In 10 seconds, if he’d come to a dead stop…you
would have too.
I don’t care if you’re Mario Andretti…what do you mean "who
is that"? Never mind, I get that I’m
old to you. OK, I don’t care if you’re Danica
Patrick, a race car driver is good because they pay attention. They're engaged in the act of driving.
But whatever was on that phone was more important to you
than your safety, and the safety of everyone around you. Look, son, driving is a privilege, and a
contract among all of us that we will watch out for each other. A lot of people break that contract, and we
call them assholes. Please, son, don’t
be an asshole.
You might accept the responsibility for your own life and
death, and even for the hole your loss would leave in the rest of us. That’s brave of you. But let me ask you this: if a pedestrian had started across the road
in front of you, perhaps paying more attention to their phone, would you have
seen them? Or would you have just become
an accidental killer? That’s a pain you
don’t want, and one that takes only an instant to arrive. You are young, and likely have great reflexes…but
those reflexes require you to look out the windshield, not at your smartphone
screen.
And did I mention that it’s illegal here? If I’d been a cop, you’d have been saving up
the dollar bills for your court costs, my boy.
Please, son, put the goddamn thing down. Leave it there. If you absolutely must look at it, please…wait
for the red light. You were 26 or so
seconds away from a minute wait at that light. Kid, I hate that light.
Were those 10 seconds of distraction so important that they couldn’t
wait that long? No, son, of course they
weren’t.
I’ve gotten angry plenty of times at people texting on the
road. Today, my boy, you didn’t piss me
off. You scared the everloving shit out
of me. We could have lost you today. I can’t tell you how happy I am we didn’t. Now please, please, don’t text behind the
wheel. It’s truly every bit as dangerous
as Russian Roulette.
Remember, young man, that we love you. Oh, and clean your room, OK? It builds character.
Love,
Dangerboy
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