No Drinking, Texting, Driving

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I’m grateful every time I see or hear a “No Texting While Driving” public awareness campaign on the radio or television.  I have a friend who puts hers in the glove compartment when she drives.  I usually have mine on the passenger seat-- face down or in my purse-- and make a point to set my GPS before I start driving, occasionally pulling over to the side of the road if I need to make a call or adjustment.  But it’s hard to resist.

The PSAs remind me of the no drinking-and-driving campaigns of my high school years and the no littering campaigns before that.  It’s one of the many subtle, or I should say not so subtle nods to a bygone era that Madmen pays homage to when, for instance, Don Draper shakes out his families’ picnic blanket scattering trash on the park’s lawn before walking away-- or pours his pal a scotch before sending him home in his car.  My parent’s generation used to call them ‘one more for the road’.  We called them ‘roadies’.  Thank goodness the majority of today’s younger generation doesn’t fathom getting behind the wheel intoxicated any more that we would think to toss a bag of litter out the car window.

I was talking to my mother about this the other day when she told me a story.  She was just out of college, in the early 1960s, when she and her merry band of friends decided to take a weekend road trip down south to visit some other friends—a young couple who had just married.  Five of them were going—cars were enormous in those days—and everyone had an assigned job.  A different passenger was in charge of snacks, maps, entertainment, and drinks, etc.  I interrupted Mom’s story, “Was there anything non-alcoholic to drink?”  “No,” she said, “We drank the whole way down.  And sang.  The entertainment person had a list of car games and songs for us to sing.” 

“And the driver drank?” 

“Of course,” she said matter-of-factly.  I cringed.  Mom continued, “but you didn’t ask me what my job was.” 

“What was your job, Mother?”

“Decorations,” she said.  I had to laugh.  We both did.

“I taped up crepe paper all along the top of the car and blew up little balloons…” 

“On the outside of the car?” 

“No,” she said, “the inside.”  I pictured my mom arriving an hour before departure time in order to secure a decorative trim of twisted crepe paper along the upper corners of the car ceiling, small balloons bobbing along, grazing their heads as they sang.

“Good work, Mom,” I said, “and did you sing?”

“Of course.  We all sang the whole way.  In fact, at one point I remember my friend telling the driver to pull over.”

“Because the singing was so bad?’

“No, he said he was too drunk to sing, so he had better drive.”

“Good Lord,” I said, “Did you let him drive?”

“Of course.”  I covered my mouth and shook my head.

“I know,” she said, “We were idiots.  We’re lucky to be alive.”

“I’ll say.  We were idiots, too.  We’re all lucky.”

There must be a million stories out there--serendipitous idiots doing ridiculous things.  Thankfully, designated drivers and community garbage cans are a permanent fixture of our landscape now.  But I think about what else we’re doing now, cluelessly, that will turn out to be completely idiotic.  Certainly, there’s plenty I’m aware of, but what will shock me?  What stories will I recount for my adult son that will leave him agape and shaking his head?  I’ll be glad when texting-while-driving becomes a thing of the past.  I hope they come up with a device that hobbles texting or turns your phone to dust while your car is moving.   Until then, keep your wits about you and be en garde.  There are idiots among us, still.