L 6/25/02

Work Diary, 6/25/02

As a child in the mid-seventies, I remember sitting in my mother's big,
brown americanamobile while we waited to fuel up during the national
"gas crisis." My mother, deathly afraid of driving on freeways, took
back roads wherever she went. As a result, her left arm was several
shades darker than her right, the sun managing to tan her left arm for
hours as we drove from stoplight to stoplight, sweating in the summer
heat. Another result was that she spent a lot of money on gas. My
memories of sliding down a damp seat and groaning as she pulled behind
yet another endless line of cars at the gas station are as clear as if
it were yesterday.

The United States, believing it might run out of gas, immediately
stepped up production of smaller, more fuel-efficient cars in the
seventies. These were cars with a shelf life of five years at most,
although the owners often drove them until the bumpers fell off or the
sheet metal was so corroded with rust that the car resembled some sort
of rare, freakish coral found only in the deepest oceans. Some, like
the Ford Pinto, could be deadly, their gas tanks exploding on impact
when rear-ended. But the "crisis" ended, of course, and although we
still produce some small cars, our pride and joy are those monsters
fondly known as SUVs.

I've grown weary of SUVs and their first cousins, pickup trucks. I'm
tired of seeing one person in a vehicle the size of a mini-bus soaring
down the highway, getting 21 miles-per-gallon and putting the drivers
of regular vehicles in mortal peril. And dangerous they are, SUVs. In
my tin-can Subaru, a hit from one of those beasts would surely kill me,
if not place me in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. As for SUV
drivers, they are safe unless hit by an even larger SUV or unless they
roll down a hill, at which point their vehicles show a remarkable
capacity for collapsing under their own weight.

In my job as an insurance adjuster, I arrange for rental vehicles for
clients whose own cars are being repaired. People often request an SUV
because they "just don't feel safe" in a regular-size vehicle. They
want the security of a larger vehicle for their children, and I can't
help but think, "Yes, but what about the children of people in, say, a
Honda Civic who don't stand a chance when you absentmindedly slam into
the back of their car?"

While I find it difficult to rely on European superiority (after all,
Europe's moral conscience took a millennium to develop, whereas my
infant country's is coming along nicely despite the efforts of a
plethora of Latter Day Republicans), I was surprised to learn from a
friend who often visits England that SUVs are becoming de rigeur over
there. "Surely not," I protested, because how appalling to think of an
SUV navigating the bustling streets of London, blocking the view of
other drivers and taking up two parking spaces instead of one. Alas, it
appears to be true, which makes me think the exchange of ideas across
the Atlantic is definitely flowing in the wrong direction.

My advice to the Brits: Run. While you still can.