When a teenager gets his first car, he’s spending countless hours washing it, picking off every piece of lint and not allowing anyone to park too close. For Collin, his rich parents bought him a car for his sweet 16. And between looking at himself in the mirror and striking out with relationships, how did he find the time to take care of a massive piece of machinery?
The typical too-cool-for-school look with his shades on and arm out the window as he sped down streets in his neighborhood, Collin got comfortable – too comfortable, actually – for his own good. He became that obnoxious kid who would rev the engine and squeal the tires as he took off way too fast from the parked position. Feeling unstoppable because, as he said, cops would never stop someone with money in a car like this, Collin let his poor driving habits get the best of him.
One sunny summer day, Collin decided to slow things down to parade-float speed so the neighbors could get a good look at him as he, well, waved like he was in a parade. With his music blaring, Collin could sometimes see mouths moving from his adoring public but never understood what they were saying. As he looked from side to side to bask in the envy of onlookers, Collin felt a bit of a sway as he rounded one street corner. Thinking nothing of it, he continued his procession through the community.
As he arrived to the next street of potential gawkers, Collin cranked up his cruising music to grab attention and disturb the peace in the neighborhood. Having to slowly move left to avoid cars parked to his right on the narrow residential street, Collin felt a difference in the steering wheel as he navigated. Bad roads, he thought to himself. And how dare they risk damaging the beauty that was his new sports car.
At this point, families who were in their front yards took notice of his impending arrival. They, too, made eye contact and started waving their arms in the air. Curiously, it was happening on the right side of the street and never the left.
“Oh, my people, my people,” Collin thought to himself. A little girl from a few houses up, ran to the boulevard to approach the car as it arrived. Collin came to a full stop, one hand on the steering wheel, removing his glasses with the other, and asking the girl what’s up.
“There’s an orange traffic cone stuck in your front tire,” she said.
Embarrassed, though unwilling to get out and remove it at the height of his cool-dude cruise, Collin played it off like he knew it was there and said it was why he was driving so slowly. He said his friends put it there as a joke because they were jealous of his expensive ride and he had to get to the mechanic to remove it.
“Unlikely,” the unconvinced little girl said as she skipped back to her yard.