Stranger in a Strange Land

The part of the city where I work is not the part where I live, and sometimes I feel like I don't quite fit with the locals in that neck of the woods. 

For example ...

At 3:22 today I was about six blocks from work, in the left-turn lane, waiting for that blasted little arrow to turn green. I noticed that the car ahead of me had a decal in the rear window. 

It read: Badass Girlz Drive Badass Toys. 

The car? A Toyota Corolla. Yep. I know. Totally badass.

As the light was taking forever to change, I had some free time on my hands to ponder the situation. 

My Thoughts:

•  Shouldn't it read Badass Girlz Drive Badass Toyz  (or Badass Girls Drive Badass Toys)? Seriously, if you're gonna eschew tradition and signify the plural form of a noun with a z instead of an s, you should consistently adhere to your own rule, no? You don't hear Elmer Fudd correctly pronouncing his r's from time to time; no, it's "Wascal Wabbit" every damn time. No exceptions. That guy's as dedicated as De Niro, and we all respect him for that. 

•  I'm all for gender equity, but this decal is so obviously a rip-off of the more commonly seen Badass Boyz Drive Badass Toyz, without the inherent charm of its predecessor's rhyming couplet format. Sequels are never as good as the original (exception: The Empire Strikes Back), and, Ladies, we deserve better than a shoddy sequel of a window cling. Dammit, if I want to tout my car's badassness to the masses, I deserve to do so in rhyme too. And in an original rhyme at that. I am shocked to find myself so blatantly discriminated against in this day and age. Things would be SO different right now if Hillary had won. 

•  Again, badass? On a Corolla? Is that supposed to be ironic or something?

The green arrow appeared - fleetingly. It only lit up long enough for the cars in line ahead of Badass Corolla and me, so we were stuck there together through another cycle. I was pretty well tapped out on judgmental thoughts about her, but, being where I was, another show pulled in line behind me. And this one had audio.

Actually, I felt the presence of the car behind me before I was even aware that I was hearing anything. It was some non-descript Chevy sedan, driven by a teenage boy who had, apparently, discovered the secret location of the volume and bass controls on his stereo. It was all bass. Entirely bass. Treble need not apply. Only bass. 

I sensed an odd fluttering in my lungs and bowels as the Chevy pulled up behind me. My eardrums started pushing in and out with each pulse of the bass, and I wished I had some gum to chew to help them pop. 

I assume what Mr. Big Audio Dynamite was playing was music, but with only the bass audible, it really just seemed like a series of low-frequency pulses being sent down through the earth. Perhaps he was calling out to a herd of far-off elephants. Or searching for oil deposits. I duuno. I was just trying to get home from work. 

I've always taken issue with the whole play-the-car-stereo-excessively-loud thing. It demonstrates such an odd combination of not giving a crap what other people think while simultaneously seeking their attention. Desperately. 

I could see Mr. Big Audio Dynamite in my rearview mirror, and he had that smug expression on his face. He was stickin' it to all of us and our stoopid rules. He'd had to behave at school the whole damn day, and now he was showing the world who was boss.  

And everyone at the intersection - the elderly couple in the car next to me, the middle school girls crossing at the light, the dog tied up in the neighbor's backyard  - had the same expression on their faces - the one that says: That is just so sad. 

Finally, the arrow lit up green again, and we all went on our way.

You don't suppose Badass Corolla and Big Audio Dynamite are out there somewhere, blogging about that judgmental-looking woman listening to MPR in her practical German sedan, do you?