There are two kinds of people in the world. Those who are kind, considerate, moderate, reasonable, casual behind the wheel, easy to please, quick to make a decision and move on, who passed the driver’s test on the first try, and are psychologically normal.
And Backers–BACKERS!--those who insist on backing into parking spots for no apparent reason.
Backers. Those self-aggrandizing showoffs who insist on backing into a parking space, no matter the time, the traffic, the circumstance, the weather, the number of available spaces, or the presence of your fellow man in the black Ford Edge right behind you who just wants to run inside and get a small black coffee.
Backers. Those folks who think the “D” button on their dash means “Don’t use this button.”
Backers. Those bumptious bellicose banes of my existence. Especially when I’m late. For church. “Look, there are 27 open parking spots. Now we just have to wait for Mr. Chevy Silverado to back his four-ton backside to the very edge of the grass. I hope they do four songs today!”
What is it with you people? I swear, you could be in an empty parking lot in the middle of the night outside the stadium no one has played in since they wore leather helmets and you’d still be putting the stupid thing in reverse.
You could be in an empty parking garage and you’d insist on backing into the space closest to the exit, just in case “things fill up and I can’t get out later.”
Backers. You think the world revolves around you as you revolve your steering wheel under your hand which is attached to your arm which is opposite the one draped like a bad coat on the back of your seat while your head turns on a swivel like an owl only not nearly as cool as an owl because owls are the epitome of cool. Seriously, did you ever see an owl land on his nest flying backwards?
Backers. You think a ‘Drive Thru’ is an oxymoron.
You are worse than non-turn-signal surprisers.
You are worse than passing lane meanderers.
You are worse than right-on-red refusers, on-ramp resters, and slowpoke sleepers.
What’s worse, you just don’t seem to care.
You don’t care that it’s Saturday afternoon at Walmart and there’s already enough traffic to make you think Taylor Swift must be shopping here. You don’t care that you are creating a backlog in aisle three so deep that somebody is going to knock over the poinsettia display. You don’t care that, by backing in, you won’t be able to access your trunk when you come out with your groceries, thus requiring you to leave your cart in the aisle while you make eight trips to the back of your car which should be facing the other direction. Oh, and when your cart drifts two spaces down and dings that nice BMW, you won’t care then either.
You don’t care that the rest of us just want to get this trip over with, but we’re stuck waiting for you to back in like an old man getting into his wheelchair after using the toilet.
And what is the point, anyway? Do you think your Durango is Danny Ocean’s getaway car? Do you think your Murano is going to the moon? Are you concerned your Sonata won’t be the first one out of town when the tsunami sirens go off? Or do you think that somehow, in the universal economy known as “coolness,” your masculinity quotient will be measured in inverse proportion to the accuracy of your Regal in reverse? Seriously, it doesn’t make you look tough. Do you think Mad Max ever backed up?
Backers! I just don’t get it. I mean, I can back up when I need to. I’ve even backed up a trailer on a hitch, which is not unlike doing calculus while juggling knives while standing on a rolling log while doing Irish dancing. And parallel parking? I learned that on the mean streets of Reading, PA, the summer after I graduated from college and lived on the third floor right above the gay bar. I’ve even “three-point turned” in two-and-a-half points! But I don’t see why I need to prove myself by backing into the parking space outside Waffle House. Backing up for no reason is like grilling your cheese with a blowtorch while standing in front of the stove. You think it looks cool, but others just think you're a few pounds short of full tire pressure.
So, for what it’s worth, I’m calling you out, backers of the world! They call it front wheel drive for a reason.
The rest of us just want to move forward.