Go Speed Racer

I did not come by my aversion to elderly male drivers all willy-nilly. No sir, I developed this hostility over the course of my life. 
Growing up, I remember riding in the car with my dear, sweet grandfather, Paw-Paw.
This is him:

He is a pillar of his community. He is a deacon at his church and admired by many.


Whether it was his poor childhood, the fact that he has overcome a massive heart attack, or that he has been married to the same woman for 60 of his 79 years of life, it is unknown to me. Whatever the reason, he drives with a complete disregard to any speed limit sign, traffic light, or any other thing telling him how to drive. He stops when he wants and drives as fast as he can. So, this is what it is like to ride with him:

I make sure my seat belt is fastened, clinch my buttocks, and hold on for dear life. It's much like a theme park ride, but without the safety of knowing you will not die.

Then, there were the times I rode with my step father, Chuck. He was very unlike my grandfather. He smoked, drank, gambled, and was a big meanie head- also admired by many.
This is what he looked like:

Whether it was his rough childhood as an abandoned orphan, the 3 years he was a P.O.W. of the Korean War, or merely a bad hangover, his reason was also unknown to me. With this in mind, he also drove with complete disregard to any speed limit sign. Time was not an issue either; therefore, he drove 20mph everywhere he went. So, this is what it was like riding with him:

He was not sexist in dishing out the "pecker head" tag; anyone who crossed his path was a pecker head. He was a very fair man. 

Like riding with Paw-Paw, I made sure my seat belt was fastened, clinched my buttocks, and held on for dear life. With both of them, there was a lot of honking and yelling involved in the car ride. 


As an adult, I have noticed that all old-man drivers,(stubborn and arrogant), fall into either the Paw-Paw's or the Chuck's categories.


Recently, I have noted these drivers in the wild firsthand. 

One month ago:
My Bestie and I went to a flea market. It was a huge event, and we walked around for about 6 hours before I called, "Uncle!" 
Since there was a tent with cheap ferns, she wanted to make one last stop. Rather than carry several giant ferns the half mile to her car, we decided to park next to the tent and have the nice Mexican men to load them in the car while we rested our aching feet.

The tent was on the left side of the shelled drive, and we were on the right side. So, she parked in the grass on the wrong side of the road, but next to the tent.
While I waited for her, I rummaged through my treasures and sat in the passenger seat of her Mazda M-whatever. 

Two trucks passed, each going around the part of her car on the edge of the shelled road. Meanwhile, I noticed her negotiating with the Mexican men who clearly did not speak English. I continued checking my wares. 

Then, a big, silver, dually pickup truck pulled up in front of her car. The elderly man stared at me.

So, I motioned for him to go around. 
He shook his head, "NO," and continued to stare at me.

I shrugged my shoulders and again motioned him to go around. 
He just glared at me.

Then, the mammoth truck began easing toward the car. There was a telephone pole about five feet to the left of the car, mind you, IN THE GRASS. 
The fact that he had gone completely off-road was no matter to him. We were on the wrong side of the road, and he was determined to pass us, as driving technique taught him, on the left side.

The dually eased closer until it was touching both my Bestie's car and the telephone pole.

I looked over at my Bestie to see what was taking so long, but she was still trying to negotiate with the Spanish speaking gentlemen. 

I sat in disbelief at the audacity of the elderly man.

His little wife climbed slowly down from the truck and ran over to the car, yelling in a panic:

Because I was in the passenger seat and my Bestie had taken the car keys with her, there was nothing I could do. So, I shrugged my shoulders and politely said, "I'm sorry, can he just go around?"

The little senior woman went back to the truck and screamed for him to go around. He slowly shook his head, "NO," and continued to glare at me.

Then, the elderly woman came back to the car and began screaming at me again:

At this point, my Bestie noticed the commotion. She and the nice Mexican men came toward the car, each of them had giant ferns in both hands. My Bestie calmly explained to the little granny that we would move as soon as they loaded the car, only a few minutes longer. 
But, that wasn't good enough. The little old lady screamed at her:

My Bestie frightened the Mexicans when she returned the screaming, "I SAID, WAIT A MINUTE!"

I jumped out of the car, and the Mexican men and I nervously shoved the ferns in the trunk and backseat while my Bestie started the car.

After the car was loaded, she couldn't simply drive around the elderly couple because their truck's bumper was touching her car. 

So, she had to reverse before she could safely go around them. The old man stared at us as we passed and finally said something:

PAW-PAW CATEGORY.

Two weeks ago:
As I was driving to my Bestie's house, I got stuck behind an elderly man driving 20 in a 45mph section of road. Traffic was pretty thick on this two-lane street, so I was unable to pass him. 

 

 Since my children were with me, I refrained from yelling the words of wisdom Paw-Paw instilled in me. Instead, I honked a few times. 

Then, the senior man reached up to adjust his mirror and gave me a signal of his own:

CHUCK CATEGORY

Although both of my children found it hilarious that the grandpa putting along and backing up traffic shot us the bird, I was steaming. Thoughts of Paw-Paw kept playing in my mind:

I love my Paw-Paw...

Since I will NEVER be an elderly man, I am certain I will be put into neither the Paw-Paw nor Chuck categories. 

Take notice the next time you are on the road. Is that elderly male driver a Paw-Paw or a Chuck?