‘God gave man paradise on earth,
Man made it into a parking lot.’
And to quote Winston Churchill,
“The motor vehicle will be the curse of the 20th century.”
It’s been said that cockroaches are the only living organism that could survive nuclear Armageddon. But in the mechanical insect world, I bet cars would too. They are remarkably similar, if you think about it: pestilent, the same sort of shape, ugly, filthy, crawling all over the place, abhorrent in one’s vicinity, almost impossible to get rid of, terrible for the environment and bad for health.
Some people give up smoking, but, years ago, I gave up driving because I hate cars. No, that’s not quite right. I seriously hate cars. In a single day the average sized vehicle will pollute more than a smoker will in a lifetime. Accordingly, if smoking is getting banned here, there and freaking everywhere, apparently for the good of the general public’s health, then cars have to be too. CARS KILL should be emblazoned on their sides, bumpers and bonnets, accompanied by graphic photos of car crash victims.
Making these facts infinitely worse, a truly awful news story came to me via the South China Morning Post whereby an eight year old girl, living in a house by the side of a congested road in Jiangsu province, has been diagnosed with lung cancer due to the levels of vehicle pollution she has no choice but to breathe. Not only are the fragile bones of kids smashed to pieces in accidents but their delicate, innocent lungs are being contaminated by toxic vehicle fumes. Reading further, in the USA alone, I discover that 200,000 people die each year from such vehicle emissions, and last month in Kathmandu I did wonder and worry when I saw kids playing on the narrow streets, dodging the traffic and breathing poison that you can pretty much chew on.
Cars are dirty, dangerous, killing machines that serve only the selfishness of the individual, the oil industry and car salesmen. Throw in a bit of tax for governments, who on the whole are also a pack of self-interested scumbags, and you've got the toe-rags’ equivalent of a royal flush.
Just the other night I was sitting outside my local café and enjoying the very brief, cool weather of winter when some slovenly oaf turned up in his car and parked right next to the packed terrace, a huge and empty parking lot 20 metres away, exhaust pumping in our direction. Not content with that intrusion, the driver put his hand on the car horn and left it there, giving one long blast into our eardrums. It's the local way to attract a waiter's attention. Air pollution and noise pollution in a matter of seconds and he couldn't have cared less about anyone but his slimy self.
Once he'd stopped, I told him to “Shut the fuck up.”
“What did you say to me?” he asked indignantly, moustache twitching, yellow fangs bared.
This is a common refrain that I often hear whenever I pick a fight out here (more and more frequent the longer I stay). I’m not saying I’m a tough guy, but in times like this I am an annoyed guy and can look after myself in this neck of the sand.
“I said ‘shut the fuck up’. Why don’t you switch that engine off, get your fat ass out of your fucking car and go inside to get the coffee?”
“You shut up,” replied the honking wanker. “I will kill you”.
It went on like this for a while before he repeated his death threat and I decided that he was definitely all mouth and no trousers.
“Oh yeah,” I said, standing up. “Let’s see about that.”
Realizing I was 100% serious he drove off, pathetically shouting something as he disappeared. Looking round at the other people sitting outside I saw a few smirks but mostly looks of anger directed my way. I was the foreigner, abusing one of their own, and for sure they would all be driving home like jerks later that evening. There are countless other stories like this that I will relate at a later date, unless someone does kill me, of course.
Encounters on my bike, when drivers entertain themselves by trying to run me down, are also common and stories coming out of London about six cyclists being killed there in the last two weeks jolted me into this rant. Car drivers don’t give a flying fuck about anyone but themselves; it’s simply power between the legs that they don’t otherwise have. That honking, gobshite wanker and his breed would no doubt find the Chinese girl’s story amusing, and, as my anger outside the coffee shop vaguely subsided, a screeching car alarm went off, its owner taking an age to sort it out.
These types of people probably keep cockroaches as pets.