Big Truck, Little Dick
I grew up in a small town in Wyoming, so I learned my skills amongst drivers who viewed the act not as a sport or a privilege but a necessity. When I was 24, I moved to Los Angeles and learned the intricacies and intimacies of big city driving. And though there were times I did miss the quieter, simpler main streets and byways, I never did mind driving in the metropolis too much.
Until I moved to Denver.
The first indication I had that Colorado drivers were the most idiosyncratic on the planet was at the first left hand turn lane I used. The driver in front of me was not paying attention to the green left arrow that had just appeared. I gave a respectful 2-3 second wait and lightly tapped a respectfully brief reminder beep on my horn. The driver (a middle-aged woman) perked up, took off, and promptly flipped me the bird.
I remember thinking at the time that she acted offended that I had somehow questioned her driving skills, when in reality all I did was offer the customary “excuse me” and nothing more. I later learned this is an unspoken affliction of many drivers in the Metro Denver area. A good number of drivers here take great offense at many innocuous acts, most of which are what I would consider qualities of the alert driver.
For instance: taking the empty slot at a red light (and no, I don’t mean the far right slot that inhibits drivers in the right lane behind from making a turn—this is a totally unused slot I am referencing). Apparently this is some kind of insult to the driver already parked at the red light, maybe an implication that they won’t be driving fast enough. Thing is, a person can drive as fast as they want from the stop at a red light, but when they do it just to show you they are offended and then slow down again, it’s borderline on neurotic.
And while we are on the subject, the theme of taking offense at many innocent and, frankly, normal driving habits (like passing a vehicle that is going slow in front of you) seems to be commonplace in Colorado. Literally, if you go to pass a slower moving vehicle (and again, no, I don’t mean roar up on them or make any derogatory gestures—I truly mean just use your blinker, safely change into the passing lane, and begin to pass) you will note a sudden increase in the speed of the other car. So for example, say you were going 50 mph and needing to pass said vehicle. When you have the opportunity to pass, you are forced to go 70 mph (and sometimes even this is not enough, forcing you to slow down and not pass).
If you do indeed pass the vehicle, you will immediately lose them in your rear view mirror as they drop off 20 mph or so.
I have been flipped off in this situation as well.
My favorite Colorado driver, however, is Little Dick. For the sake of attempting to keep this as PG-13 as possible, I’ll say that Little Dick may prefer to be called Richard, but he is Little, and a Dick, so therefore it is a must to refer to him in the more familiar and appropriate way (in Latin, by the way, he would be known by Littlus Dickus).
Little Dick, who seems to be present mostly in the general Denver Metro area, exhibits a majority of the following characteristics:
1. He drives a truck.
2. He looks ridiculously small for said truck, and requires a step-up device of some sort to even enter the driver side.
3. His rig is raised a minimum of three feet while leaving the actual ground clearance more or less unaffected.
4. His truck has some kind of lettering announcing to the world that it is bigger, tougher, and better (phrases such as Super-Charged, 4x4, Off-Road, and Magnum are popular).
5. The vehicle is normally diesel and rated for moving girders and for towing small farm equipment (but looks as though it’s never made it far from the detailing shop).
6. He invariably sports:
A. Pictures of cartoon characters peeing on the competition.
B. A decal that proclaims “Fear This”.
C. A “Superman” emblem.
D. A huge set of rubber testicles hanging from an oversized trailer hitch.
E. Some combination or all of the above.
In some instances, Little Dick is really a Needle Dick, a variation on the theme that sports a requisite goatee and backwards baseball cap (Needle Dick had his ass handed to him one too many times after gym class and feels the need to man-up every weekend, pound his tiny, hairless chest, and scream “I am man” from the top of a gnarly set of subconscious lungs).
The most stereotypical Needle Dick I ever had the pleasure of driving behind was towing a trailer containing another favorite of the Dick clan: a Harley Davidson motorcycle. In fact, this trailer was large enough that in addition to masking ND’s proclivity for blow-up girlfriends, could easily hold a quartet of motorcycles.
In any case, on this occasion, ND was apparently upset because I had pulled my much smaller Dodge pickup (sans Freudian adornments) in front of his behemoth truck and trailer tandem, thus breaking the cardinal rule of the Denver suburban jungle:
Never Threaten a Dick's Superiority (Or the Size of his Rig).
ND immediately began asserting his true nature by roaring his engine and feigning that he would ram me (I am guessing if we were pulled to the side of the road he would have tried to whip it out and pee on me, ala Calvin). Of course, once he pulled alongside and saw the evidence that personally I am not a Needle Dick at all, he shouted a typical obscenity and drove for home.
(For the record, I am guessing home includes inflatable companionship, a garage full of power tools, and a bathroom with a well-worn picture of David Hasselhoff and Kitt next to a fat jar of Zippy Lube).
Okay, okay, that's a little harsh. In all candor, I realize there are probably plenty of legitimate off-roaders, bikers, and even Knight Rider fans, who were not one roll of the 16-sided die away from becoming Dungeons and Dragons Master Champions and who are probably not Dicks at all, much less Little or Needle Dicks. Yes, maybe I am being a little generous with the Knight Rider acknowledgement, but you get the point.
Fact is, if you drive in Denver and do not fit the description above, you probably know exactly the type of numbskull I am talking about. If you do fit this description, then you need to take your checkbook, drive at least 100 miles in any direction, and rent a pair.
Yeah, yeah, dude, we get it:
See Dick run.
See Dick roar his big truck around town.
See Jane prefer a man who doesn’t need a four-wheel substitute for his package.
The back seat is quiet.
Until I moved to Denver.
The first indication I had that Colorado drivers were the most idiosyncratic on the planet was at the first left hand turn lane I used. The driver in front of me was not paying attention to the green left arrow that had just appeared. I gave a respectful 2-3 second wait and lightly tapped a respectfully brief reminder beep on my horn. The driver (a middle-aged woman) perked up, took off, and promptly flipped me the bird.
I remember thinking at the time that she acted offended that I had somehow questioned her driving skills, when in reality all I did was offer the customary “excuse me” and nothing more. I later learned this is an unspoken affliction of many drivers in the Metro Denver area. A good number of drivers here take great offense at many innocuous acts, most of which are what I would consider qualities of the alert driver.
For instance: taking the empty slot at a red light (and no, I don’t mean the far right slot that inhibits drivers in the right lane behind from making a turn—this is a totally unused slot I am referencing). Apparently this is some kind of insult to the driver already parked at the red light, maybe an implication that they won’t be driving fast enough. Thing is, a person can drive as fast as they want from the stop at a red light, but when they do it just to show you they are offended and then slow down again, it’s borderline on neurotic.
And while we are on the subject, the theme of taking offense at many innocent and, frankly, normal driving habits (like passing a vehicle that is going slow in front of you) seems to be commonplace in Colorado. Literally, if you go to pass a slower moving vehicle (and again, no, I don’t mean roar up on them or make any derogatory gestures—I truly mean just use your blinker, safely change into the passing lane, and begin to pass) you will note a sudden increase in the speed of the other car. So for example, say you were going 50 mph and needing to pass said vehicle. When you have the opportunity to pass, you are forced to go 70 mph (and sometimes even this is not enough, forcing you to slow down and not pass).
If you do indeed pass the vehicle, you will immediately lose them in your rear view mirror as they drop off 20 mph or so.
I have been flipped off in this situation as well.
My favorite Colorado driver, however, is Little Dick. For the sake of attempting to keep this as PG-13 as possible, I’ll say that Little Dick may prefer to be called Richard, but he is Little, and a Dick, so therefore it is a must to refer to him in the more familiar and appropriate way (in Latin, by the way, he would be known by Littlus Dickus).
Little Dick, who seems to be present mostly in the general Denver Metro area, exhibits a majority of the following characteristics:
1. He drives a truck.
2. He looks ridiculously small for said truck, and requires a step-up device of some sort to even enter the driver side.
3. His rig is raised a minimum of three feet while leaving the actual ground clearance more or less unaffected.
4. His truck has some kind of lettering announcing to the world that it is bigger, tougher, and better (phrases such as Super-Charged, 4x4, Off-Road, and Magnum are popular).
5. The vehicle is normally diesel and rated for moving girders and for towing small farm equipment (but looks as though it’s never made it far from the detailing shop).
6. He invariably sports:
A. Pictures of cartoon characters peeing on the competition.
B. A decal that proclaims “Fear This”.
C. A “Superman” emblem.
D. A huge set of rubber testicles hanging from an oversized trailer hitch.
E. Some combination or all of the above.
In some instances, Little Dick is really a Needle Dick, a variation on the theme that sports a requisite goatee and backwards baseball cap (Needle Dick had his ass handed to him one too many times after gym class and feels the need to man-up every weekend, pound his tiny, hairless chest, and scream “I am man” from the top of a gnarly set of subconscious lungs).
The most stereotypical Needle Dick I ever had the pleasure of driving behind was towing a trailer containing another favorite of the Dick clan: a Harley Davidson motorcycle. In fact, this trailer was large enough that in addition to masking ND’s proclivity for blow-up girlfriends, could easily hold a quartet of motorcycles.
In any case, on this occasion, ND was apparently upset because I had pulled my much smaller Dodge pickup (sans Freudian adornments) in front of his behemoth truck and trailer tandem, thus breaking the cardinal rule of the Denver suburban jungle:
Never Threaten a Dick's Superiority (Or the Size of his Rig).
ND immediately began asserting his true nature by roaring his engine and feigning that he would ram me (I am guessing if we were pulled to the side of the road he would have tried to whip it out and pee on me, ala Calvin). Of course, once he pulled alongside and saw the evidence that personally I am not a Needle Dick at all, he shouted a typical obscenity and drove for home.
(For the record, I am guessing home includes inflatable companionship, a garage full of power tools, and a bathroom with a well-worn picture of David Hasselhoff and Kitt next to a fat jar of Zippy Lube).
Okay, okay, that's a little harsh. In all candor, I realize there are probably plenty of legitimate off-roaders, bikers, and even Knight Rider fans, who were not one roll of the 16-sided die away from becoming Dungeons and Dragons Master Champions and who are probably not Dicks at all, much less Little or Needle Dicks. Yes, maybe I am being a little generous with the Knight Rider acknowledgement, but you get the point.
Fact is, if you drive in Denver and do not fit the description above, you probably know exactly the type of numbskull I am talking about. If you do fit this description, then you need to take your checkbook, drive at least 100 miles in any direction, and rent a pair.
Yeah, yeah, dude, we get it:
See Dick run.
See Dick roar his big truck around town.
See Jane prefer a man who doesn’t need a four-wheel substitute for his package.
The back seat is quiet.
posted by Commish at 11:25 AM
2 comments
