I’ve had it. I really have. I did not sit for four hours on weekdays and eight hours on weekends in a cold desk in some cubbyhole school in the middle of nowhere to have my driving skills insulted. I studied my butt off to pass that test. There were a lot of rules in that driver’s education class. Don’t pass on the double-yellow line. Don’t roll through a stop sign. Go the speed limit religiously.

Is it somehow vital to the existence of mankind to ignore that last rule completely? Yes, you are in college, you are young and you are having fun, but if you destroy someone, how much fun will you have afterwards?

I have a very quiet vehicle, and it will get away from the driver pretty quickly. When I am going down a steep hill, I will reach 85, and the car is so quiet I can’t tell if I am not careful. I hit the brakes before I go that speed for any distance. However a few days ago, coming back from home on Labor Day weekend on Interstate 81, I tried a little experiment. Going down a steep hill, my car did what it always does. But this time, I didn’t slow down. Cars flew by me like fans rushing to a Springsteen concert in New Jersey. I was doing about 80 for a matter of three minutes or so. What I saw truly sickened me as I tapped my brakes and my hypothesis was proven true.

Let me tell you another bedtime story. On July 4, 1998, the worst accident my hometown had ever seen occurred. On Exit 167 outside of Buchanan in Botetourt County, Virginia, seven people, four of which who had not even aged fifteen years, met their deaths on a rain-drenched Interstate 81. First the authorities pointed to the truck driver as the one at fault. Then it was the driver of the Honda Accord. Then the rain. Let me offer my humble opinion. If they had been going considerably slower, not only in observance of the speed limit but the rain as well, the tragedy may have been of a lower degree, or avoided completely. That smear of death was a stone’s throw from my home.

Where are you all trying to get to? Wal-Mart? Burger King? 7-11? Kroger? IHOP? Do you think if you don’t try to break the sound barrier your destination will no longer exist and the entire universe will fall down a metaphysical drain? You might be in a hurry to go home, but do you think your mother would want you to go that fast?

Does that few minutes you gain by going so fast mean you are willing to take responsibility for killing someone due to your carelessness? Are you willing to have that anvil on your conscience? What would you do when you see the victim’s mother’s eyes lose their spark like a rose raped of its petals? You can’t blame that one on the rain.

I want to extend congratulations to the police officers who spend countless hours chasing after speeders. They have families and hobbies, but they spend those hours watching a machine tell them who to issue a ticket to. Yes, as I said before, they have better things to do, but, if we didn’t all drive like Mario Andretti in our Corollas and Civics and Cavaliers, they might not be everywhere like a bad case of cystic acne.