The Luxury SUV

This piece was originally posted as a Facebook note in July of 2015

Dear Luxury SUV,

I write you to apologize. This afternoon, as you flew through the barren wasteland of East Vancouver, you were about to blitz freely through that two-way stop, when I, a lowly pedestrian, approached the intersection to cross, thus forcing you to come to a screeching and inconvenient halt.

Wretched I was - tired from work, laden both with my laptop and two full bags of groceries, and worst of all, tainted with the foulness of PUBLIC TRANSIT. Forth I shuffled, like a dung beetle, under the blazing sun.

You were magnificent. Shining, gleaming white. Resplendent in your design. What was your purpose? Town car? Off-roader? Ah, but what hubris and ignorance I show: for your purpose is simply TO BE; TO GO. You move forward, your glorious halogens lighting up this undeserving world. Your V8 heart beating brightly, 15 miles to the gallon... crushing all opposition beneath your grandiose wheels with traction control, all in the perfect comfort of dual-zone climate control. The world, WE are your road. Blessed are we to be so.

As you crept mid-way through the intersection, I sensed your impatience, and hurried along, encumbered as I was by my earthly luggage. As I neared the opposite curb, you raced past just behind me, your magnificent valves emitting a beastly roar to signify your displeasure; Your distaste at my very existence for having cost you these precious seconds from your divine passage through this plane.

I shed a single tear, ashamed for my transgression. As I turned in reverence, I caught a glimpse of your majestic form as it departed. A pictogram of figures graced your rear window: FAMILY.

I could never understand.

Forgive me.

Jesse Schooffsnark, writing