So I’m sitting near a trio of college students, two of whom are remarkably hot girls and the third of which is, objectively, quite the attractive guy.
And I realize they’re talking about getting busted for speeding. As such stories are frequently amusing, I begin to drop eaves.
“Yeah, he put down that I was going 80-plus,” one of them says.
“Oh, that’s so cool. You are so lucky,” responds another
“Why?” asks the third
“Because, if you get nailed doing over a hundred, the fines, like, quadruple. And instead of it coming off your record in, like, nine months? It’s there for, like, seven years or something.”
“Yeah, the guy who pulled me over did the same thing for me—he put me down for going 99.”
“What were you really doing?”
“Well, I’d gotten it up to about 120, but I was actually slowing down when he got me, so I was only doing, like, 105, maybe 110. And he gives me this whole big lecture about how I was endangering my friends’ lives and that wasn’t fair and how you can’t really compensate at that speed, and just switching lanes can lead to a rollover and I was, like, I checked with them before we started to see if it was okay and they were all fine with it.”
And somewhere in the midst of all this I realized that in my head they’d switched categories, from Smokin’ Hot to Dumb as Dirt. Oh, sure, they were still attractive. But that was no longer their defining characteristic. Their extreme stupiditity had taken a commanding lead. And I suspect it’s an insurmountable one.
Until one day, ten or fifteen years hence, they hear some young punks talking about doing over a hundred on a busy interstate and think about just how stupid those kids are.