I ride a motorcycle to work every weekday. It is supposed to be fun, but it is not. A mere short ride of less than 4 kilometers takes about ten to fifteen minutes to cover. Agreed that I am kinda wuss at riding such "dangerous" automobiles. So clearly this ordeal is rather highlighted by my fellow riders and the all of those courteous people I encounter on the road.
Everyday I see several enthusiastic riders who consider the word "yield" as an opportunity, a challenge to prove that their rusty baby has got some mule-power in it. These guys have balls. I just hope they do not have balls of steel though -- considering how they ride on bumpy terrains, the triangle in (their) Bermuda must blush quite a lot later. Oh! and I love the way they turn the knob to max to catch up with the exhaust pipe of the water tanker three meters ahead, and apply the squeaky brakes to show who the real boss of the road is. Boy, with bated breath, I eagerly wait for the uneasy back-rider to throw up on the rider's helmet. I can understand their rush back home in the evening to gobble down the cold home-delivered tiffin (which the cockroaches decided to leave after a few bites), but come on guys what's the hurry to get to the office? You know your manager in not going to leave the office hottie unattended, so why bother?
Ah well, back to the road. My ride back in the evening is all about the shining hep kids behind the wheels. They are there to shine -- to shine their high beams. I wonder if a clockwork-orange-ish solution would teach them a lesson. What if in schools we start teaching that every time you switch on the high-beam lights of your car, you see your parents "doing it" -- just like back on those days you accidentally flip on their bedroom lights. Even if it does not shake their conscience, it may make them more creative, exhibitionist lovers.
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