Dear Honda

Yesterday, I got up at 5:30AM.  I worked a 12 hour day setting up and tearing down meeting rooms and a wedding reception.  Tired, sore, and very hungry, the only thing I wanted to do was to get home, have dinner, and fall asleep in my recliner. I live exactly 14.9 miles from work.  On a good day, I get home in 20 minutes.  Of course, this wouldn't be a good day.

Two miles from work, I get behind a hulking beast of middle aged mediocrity, the Honda Odyssey.  Since Ford stopped making the Aerostar, Honda has cornered the market on cattle cars for families.  I have a theory that if you are stuck behind a slow movie vehicle, chances are that car will either be an Odyssey being driven by a soccer mom or dad, or a Prius being driven by the kind of prick that buts a Prius.  Pay attention some time.  You'll be surprised how often I'm right.

This one must have been hauling the cast of the now deceased Honey Boo Boo show, because it was moving ten miles an hour under the speed limit.  Myself and seven other cars had to follow this jackhole for three miles before there was a passing lane, at which point I passed with extreme prejudice.  That means I honked at him while passing and probably flipped him the bird.  Probably.


I only made it another mile or so before I caught up to another car, this one wavering between five to ten miles an hour under the limit.  This car, yet again, was an Odyssey being driven by a middle aged woman with a bitching top ponytail going.  On top of being a lousy driver, she was also talking on her cell phone, I'm sure about how little regard she has for other's time or well being.  I couldn't pass her for another mile or so, and at this point, my drive had been held up a good seven or eight minutes over a usual drive.  Clearly irritated, I gave her a thumbs up as I passed.  She ignored me as she gabbed over her Galaxy S4bitch. 

Finally, I was in the home stretch.  I had one turn to make at a stoplight, and then three miles to home.  I had to stop at the light, and a car creeped through the intersection before I got the green.  A stream of "No no no no no no butt no" poured from my mouth.  My luck, a third asshat mobile Odyssey.  This one was practically speeding at three miles under the limit.  That breakneck speed brought my to a mile from my house until he pulled to a turn lane.  Surprisingly, this was a twenty some year old man with a neckbeard.  Clearly, the backseat of this Odyssey was now a mattress strained with the tears of hookers that regret the choices they've made.  He slowly bopped his head to some Ani DiFranco song that only he could hear, turning into whatever den of sadness and stained Homes and Better Gardens magazines that he had fashioned out of his townhouse. 

I made it home in over half an hour.  That's one and a half times longer than need be.

Please Honda, do something about this.  Only you can stop this mayhem.  Make these cars unable to operate under 55 mph, or at least let them expel some kind of gas from the vents that lets the driver have some sort of compassion towards those around them.  We're dying out here, a slow, slow, painfully crawling death.