How Big an Asshole am I for Not Brushing All the Snow Off My Car?
I caught a story on the local news earlier in the week about a family on the highway that had a giant slab of ice slide off the car in front of them, come flying at them like a meteorite and shatter their windshield while the offending car kept driving. And of course it came with the obligatory lecture from the anchors about the dangers of not clearing off your car because it’s so dangerous and it’s the law.
It’s something I thought about this morning as I pulled out of the Stately Thornton Manor driveway with a good three inches of loose granular snow all over my car. I mean, I gave the glass a quick once over; I don’t have a death wish. But sure, I did what I always do. I drove with a Snowhawk, knowing it would blow off eventually. God put it there, so I like to let him take it off.
To be fair to me, which I always strive to do, this wasn’t like that car on the news. I wasn’t carrying a huge berg of deductible-eating frozen danger around. I’m talking about the kind of powder Stowe charges you $125 to ski on. Sure, safety is important. But so is my time. I’ve got places to be an blogs to write. And if I can cut corners and let the laws of aerodynamics take the snow off for me, I’ll do it every time. And if I happen to speed up so I can pretend all the snow blowing off the hood at my windshield is me taking the Millennium Falcon into hyperdrive? Well that’s my right as a free American who owns the damn road. So quit oppressing me, cops and other motorists. Not everything revolves around you.