Existential Tailgating

You know what warms the cockles of my heart? What ignites a connection and reconnection to not only my, but our, humanity? Tailgaters.

Yes, those lovely human beings that feel the need to reduce the space between your vehicles to a solid 10 inches…at 75mph. Yes, nothing like a tailgater to remind me that the abyss is both in front of me and behind me…in a supercharged BMW, and way too important for silly speed laws. No this guy needs to get to Target for some stain remover and the sale ends soon.

And so my life is taken into his hands and ah the adrenaline pumps.  And when it does that connection, that bond to my brethren is strengthened. Yes, to know that we are all fucked is just so, so, all encompassing. When no one is exempt from Tommy Tailgater we can all express our gratitude to his flippancy to the fragility of human life. Pregnant wife in the car, with your 2 yr. old in a car seat in the back? Who cares? Tailgaters aren’t prejudiced and this is cause for connection.

Sartre was right when he said Man is what he does. He tailgates. And he laughs in the face of death. He poo poos the right hand lane and mortality with nothing but cognition, acceleration, and flashing high beams. Shun safety. What is the point of highway safety when it is all meaningless? After all, doesn’t road rage make you feel alive?

But fear not you religious folk. There is still a place for faith. Tailgating isn’t just for the godless and the secular. Lest we forget the faith in brake pads. Man is condemned to die but that future can be put on hold if Tina Tailgater has good brake pads. For we will brake test. And the tailgaters will ride their brakes, ride their brakes till they resemble a paper-thin, fragile egg shell that is the difference between life and a trip to the ER.

So thank you tailgaters. Thank you for lighting a fire that burns inside. Thank you for your contagious irreverence to life. Thank you not only for your speeding but for also speeding up our recognition that in the big scheme of things, none of this counts for 2 bits; and when nothing counts you can certainly ride up my ass till the cows come home.