As I was on Claflin this afternoon, walking back home from the Housing building (why is it way over on the very edge of campus?), for a minute, I was a few yards behind some girl. A silver 700-series Beemer drove up on the street, slowed next to the girl, and honked. Then it took off. But before it did so, I could see the driver and his passenger, two red-faced guys who looked equally fratty and rapey, bobbing back and forth in their seats with laughter.
I try hard to be smug and indifferent about this kind of behavior, but I was really offended for the girl. I mean, every single time I’ve seen a BMW on the road, the driver absolutely cannot help but act like a huge douche. It doesn’t matter what year or model he has. It could be a rusty ‘83 with the muffler dragging on the ground and the driver still cuts you off like he’s got a brand new Porsche (Porsches are allowed to cut you off. You should really just expect it). And what with all the supercharging and the sport-tuned suspension, you must feel like the absolute King of DoucheyFrattyRapeyDrivingLand.
The thing is, I never pull lame stunts like that to get attention. I don’t even tell people that I’m Knight Rider. If word got out, all my loved ones would be in danger.
