It makes me roll my eyes every time.
An OHV was sitting in line at the drink shop, packed with small children, while adult supervision was as scarce as a Jazz NBA title. One child kept hopping in and out of the machine because there wasn’t enough room for him on it. None of these kids looked older than 10.
Fine, whatever, as the saying goes, “not my cows, not my pasture.”
Here’s the thing with children — they’re stupid. Now, children shouldn’t feel insulted by this because many adults are stupid as well. How else do you explain things like violent outbursts over Popeyes chicken sandwiches, network TV programming and loyalty to most major political parties?
However, all kids are stupid, which is fine. I know this because I was stupid when I was a kid too. That’s how you learn. You do something stupid, like put your hand on a hot stove, try jumping a bike over the canal or pay for Netflix, and then you learn that those things hurt you and you try to do better. It’s natural.
Even though I pay for Netflix, I’m still smart enough to know that unleashing a crew of small children in a powerful OHV is a bad idea. They got their drinks, pulled away and all of the sudden I felt much safer.
Except what shows up behind me in line but the four young children in the side-by-side built for two. They had made a circle around the drink shop and got back in line behind me.
No it was my cows and my pasture … well … OK … not cows, but definitely my pony car.
The first thing they did was violate the 10-yard rule. This is a personal rule I have — when you are a minor child driving a motor vehicle, you are not allowed within 10 yards of my car.
This isn’t meant to be mean, just truthful, but I love my car far more than these children’s parents love them.
Plus kids like these are always up to no good. I know. I was just like them at that age — hyped up on sugary drinks and looking for trouble.
Considering the age and condition of this particular OHV, there was likely no insurance involved. Other than state law, there’s really no reason to register and insure an OHV.
Since the owners clearly already didn’t care about the law regarding unsupervised young children driving an OHV on city streets, what would lead me to assume they’d actually care about the law for insuring it?
As it inched ever closer to my back bumper, I could see the driver barely had control of it. I was starting to sweat in 38-degree weather.
At one point the driver, wrapped in a blanket, audibly said “whoops” as his foot slipped off the brake and the thing lunged forward.
A million questions raced through my head. How will the damage be paid for? Will I need a new trunk panel? How long will I be in jail for assaulting a child?
Fortunately he caught it before it slammed into my GT badged rearend. Everything was fine.
By this point I was formulating arguments as to why children shouldn’t be allowed to drive OHVs (you know, besides the law), buy drinks at the drink shop or be allowed to have days off of school. Seriously, these little scoundrels needed to be in school learning about presidents, not celebrating Presidents’ Day by illegally driving around endangering themselves and innocent paint jobs everywhere.
I looked back at them one more time — no seat belts, no helmets and no clue how scary they were — and rolled my eyes.
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