Warning: this is not a portrayal of real Mini/Fiat drivers.
As a girl, I had a friend who was fond of writing on the blackboard: ‘The meek shall inherit the earth… if that’s OK with everyone else’
Irish Catholic, maybe she was trying to rid herself of some gnawing internal pressure.
But it looks like she was right. Because on the roads at least there is nothing so determined, forceful and power-soaked as a Mini/Fiat driver.
I have a medium-sized, very dull car. It’s even blue. Not a shade of blue I like. But maybe these car characteristics bring out a strong reaction in the ‘Big on the Inside’ Mini/Fiat driver.
Those sweet bulbous shapes in nail polish colours are the new aggressors.
The ads have found their audience. Those who’ve only just ditched the L-plates, can eat solids all on their own and can afford to bleach their hair and have pretty pictures painted on their cars. You’d know them anywhere. Pea puree green with a stripe, pastel pink with a cartoon flower or white with … well a double-stripe of course.
Half a dozen times in the past ten days I’ve been on a familiar A road. Speed limit on that stretch? 40mph. It’s built up. There are speed cameras. On the pavement you could see anything from a mobility scooter to a Mum pushing a buggy, holding a paper cup of coffee and talking to someone on the phone. (More stupid people.)
In my rear view mirror is a child in a Mini/Fiat. She’s squashed up against my bumper, has a friend in the passenger seat (they always come in pairs), tunes blaring, singing along, nail-extensioned hands unable to hold the wheel normally.
I put the brakes on suddenly. She pulls back and then further down the road (one lane only) sidles up on my right seeing how soon she can overtake me.
Are these cars marketed specifically to straw heads? I think so.
Or more specifically to girls who want to appear cutesy to other people looking at their cars.
There’s a glaring disparity between the image of these little cars and those who drive them. Inside these petite cars is usually (I’m afraid) a fully made up, heavy-framed blond. She’s thinking I am that slightly Italian-looking elegant woman driving around the empty streets of Rome. Just like in the ad! How cool am I! I’m seeing a large baby incapable of following the simplest road rules.
Small but with an inflated sense of power and importance? I don’t know for sure but suspect some relationship between a feminine and agile car and the bulky, muscle-headed drivers.
They’re like bitter centres inside a nice shell; the hard, husky nut with a sweet coating; the toffee someone’s kept in their pocket too long still in its shiny foil: I’d hate to unwrap it.
You can’t blame the ads. It’s their job to sell cars.
I just want these bubble-heads to get off my tail. It’s one of the biggest road deceptions ever. Those innocent headlights, the toy-like appearance, the pretty flowers. And yet inside is a hairdresser/nail technician with a driver’s licence who’s prepared to kill.
Enough. I think it’s safe to say that until someone intelligent who has some driving skill/road sense changes my mind, I’ll continue to think of the drivers as at the bottom of the human hierarchy. Come on: prove me wrong.