I collect markers of what I call “roadkill” legislation — roadside signs that demean my intellect or destroy my privileges. My favorite, of course, is “Click it or Ticket”. Get it? How clever of my state’s Humorous Sign Department (staffed by a dozen failed ex-comedians who enjoy fat salaries and a pension plan promising double their salary). The seatbelt sign reminds me that the belt, my strapped in belly, and the car belong to me. So does the road (my taxes). And I recall with sadness decedents, strangled by seat belts, who left this vale of tears after being T-boned or plunged into rivers, while many an unbelted survivor has been tossed from his vehicle toward safety.
Not to mention kids crushed by safety bags. What federal bureaucrat foresaw that? Why does my son ban me from seating my precious grandson in the front seat? “You’ll kill him!” he hollers as we back out of the driveway. Gee, I thought they saved lives.
However, the epitome of the state’s arrogance is “Traffic Fines Double in Work Zone.” It attributes to me the lowest of morals. Let’s see; if I knock down a road worker and it only costs $75, I’ll consider bowling one over and getting to work on time. What’s the calculus? One mashed road worker and congratulations: “Ted, you’re on time this morning”? But doubly fined — $150? That’s apparently enough of a penalty to upset my moral equation. I’d risk a worker’s life for $75, but not for $150. That’s what my state thinks of me. Not very flattering.
Forget occupying Wall Street. What we need is a roadsign protest movement that occupies our nation’s streets, cruising unbelted to a convocation site. Composed mainly of Washington lawyers disguised as farmers in denims and straw hats, they sue the first cop who slaps a seatbelt violation on them. They take it all the way to the Supreme Court, where any properly briefed schoolboy can prove that the Constitution doesn’t even whisper of straps, belts, or suspenders while riding your horse, and it’s clearly an infringement on the comfort of your own body, especially after a large, inflationary meal.
I save the best for last. The newest reminder by the state is that our life expectancy would go up ten years if we discarded our nefarious vehicles in favor of plodding horses, mules, or better yet, large turtles imported from the Galapagos Islands. How safe we would be! I refer here to the “No Texting While Driving” billboard. It doesn’t mention eating corn on the cob, reading War and Peace, or undertaking acrobatic sexual activity. Just texting. What about telephoning? That’s not dangerous when your wife tells you that her sister — the one with two kids — is coming to live with you? In the face of such news you’re not going to make a U-over four lanes of traffic to get to the bar, or end up in the front seat of the car in front of you? Or maybe bail out, converting your car into an unguided missile . . .
In summing up the above on personal safety, I say it is a matter of personal choice unless it infringes the rights of others. Sadly, we live in an age when society has robbed us of any choice in these concerns, as well as others that are much more serious. We’re on a slippery slope.
