Only Dicks Speed

So usually I write a story each week, but there has been something on my mind a lot lately that I felt I needed to put into words. It’s something I want us to talk about over the next few months, and it’s something I want you to share with as many people as possible.
Here we go.

We’re coming into one of the deadliest times on the roads. The Christmas / New Year break.
We all know not to speed, and once again the police tolerance will be just 4km over the limit. And yet we also know there’ll be people who think they’re above the law, and those people will probably take lives.

And it’s those people that make me really angry. Because there’s no need for it. There is never an excuse good enough to warrant speeding.

“Enjoy the journey.”
“Better to arrive late than not at all.”
“Take your time, and take lots of stops.”
We’ve all heard the messages from the NZTA, and now here’s one from me.

Speeding is a really dick-ish thing.
If you go ahead and kill yourself, fine. But first, think how it will affect your family and your friends, those who will mourn your loss and wonder what life may have been. Think of how it affects other drivers on the road, the people who swerve to avoid you, or rush out of their cars to help. Think of how it affects the first responders, who have already seen too many incidents in their lifetimes.

But here’s the thing, most speeders kill other people. And that’s when it gets really selfish.

Because what your actions say is that you think you’re the best driver in the world, and that you know better. You know better than the people that planned the roads, that set the speeds, and that enforce the law.

And, you’re saying that your life is better than everyone’s; that your life is worth more. Because why else would you risk the lives of other drivers, of passengers, of children that may also be sharing the same roads as you.

If you speed and you kill yourself, I believe that’s Darwinism at work. But if you speed and kill someone else, you’re proving to be moronic and selfish and a complete dick.

Only dicks speed.

Don’t be a dick. Please.

Week 46

They had joked about this. There were always little comments about it happening, but never to be taken seriously.
And yet here they were, side by side, the nerves prickling through to their fingertips.
A side glance to the left, a nod in return. Were they ready?
“Let’s do this,” she said. “Let’s adopt the tabby one”.

Week 45

Guy Fawkes was well and truly over, but that didn’t stop the neighbours carrying on their celebrations, more than a week later. Bangs and screaming explosions sounded from over the fence, sending the tough Rottweiler to cower beneath the bed with the cats.
Several requests from young families on the street had been made to cease fireworks after 11pm, but the alpha-males next door continued to light them into the wee hours of the morning.
Hearing the familiar whirr and flash of light as the clock ticked past 2am on a Monday morning was the final straw for William Burrows.
He apologised to the pets and retrieved his PT-80 from the safe.
The neighbours were relieved when it seemed the boys had run out of supplies a short time later, and most had finally fallen asleep when a car left the property with its lights off.
The next day, William was seen finishing his morning walk without his dog. He explained to Margaret, at the end of the street, that the poor thing was still hiding under the bed after the latest night of fireworks. She nodded sympathetically and told him that her cat still hadn’t returned home. He promised to look out for it.
A quiet night followed, and the street’s residents smiled when a moving van arrived at the boys’ house. The neighbours joked about throwing a street party to celebrate their leaving.
Several times over the next week friends and the occasional family member turned up only to peer through the windows and leave confused. Only one person knocked on William’s door. The father of one of the boys asked about the moving van and whether William could remember the company. He shrugged and said he didn’t recall, was thanked, then left alone.
It was nearly a month before the landlord, complaining about unpaid rent, discovered the empty house. New tenants were found quickly, and to the neighbourhood’s relief, they were a quiet couple, not fond of fireworks.

Week 44

When did things change?
It seems like just the other day we were all hanging out, dancing in town, and dealing with dramas that the opposite sex brings.
But now I can’t remember how long your hair is, or whether you have freckles on your face. We spent every day together for years, but now… how long has it been? Months?
No, years.
The changes had probably already begun then. I didn’t know you were in town, you didn’t know I was either. We managed to catch up and it was like old times, just with a few newer faces in the group. Plans for the future were being mapped, but nothing set. And I thought, wrongly assumed, that when it came for the next step, we’d be side by side. Or at least, aware of what the other was up to.
And so you go one way, and stay here. I still think of you as one of my best friends, but you’re not really. I certainly am not one of yours.
Is it the time? Or just the space that has shifted our friendship to the past?
If we ever end up in the same town again, maybe we’ll be friends again too. But for now, let’s just like each other’s photos on Facebook, just to show we’re still there.