An Open Letter To The A-hole Speeding Down My Street – Scary Mommy

An Open Letter To The A-hole Speeding Down My Street

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Hey Asshole,

First, SLOW THE FUCK DOWN. I can’t scream this to you because I’m at the front of my house, on my sidewalks, playing with my two, small children, and I don’t want them to hear this kind of language. Well, that’s not entirely true. Unfortunately, they’ve heard this kind of language from time to time, but I guess I don’t want the neighbors to hear me using this language. They have no idea I swear sometimes. But I’ve come close, very close to screaming these words to you.

My son is drawing with sidewalk chalk and my daughter is doing her best to wriggle free from my death grip on her hand. She’s so independent. She just wants to run away from me whenever she has the chance. She seems always to be drawn to danger. It’s obviously my responsibility to make sure my kids don’t rush toward the street, chasing a ball or running to see a neighbor friend. I must keep them safe, and I do, but you’re just making me so damn nervous. Can you just slow down!? We hardly play out front because of you, speeding down the street.

The speed limit on my street is 25 mph and you are flying down the street going much, much faster. I’ve seen you talking on the phone and texting as you speed by.

Sometimes, you are young and alone. You’re a blonde-haired teenager with his music blaring, oblivious to anything but the text you just got from your girlfriend as you speed up the street to pick her up. I actually know the girl you are headed for and she’s a great kid. I wonder if her mother knows you are driving like this? I better call her later. Seriously: SLOW THE HELL DOWN.

Sometimes, you are old and alone. You’re an older woman in a Buick. I’m always surprised when I see you driving so fast on a street with so many small children playing on the sidewalks. Don’t you have children? Or grandchildren? Or don’t you love some child, somewhere? We’ve spoken before, just briefly, and you are always kind to my kids. Don’t you worry that you’ll hit them with your car? You know, I like you. I hate to call you an asshole, but SLOW THE HELL DOWN.

Sometimes, you are my age and in a minivan with small children of your own. This is truly unbelievable. You have your own precious cargo in your car and yet you speed by mine like it is no big deal. I know you’re likely in a rush to get to work or the grocery store, but you’re scaring me. SLOW THE HELL DOWN.

Sometimes, you are a middle aged male and you wave at me as you pass. You seem happy as you sip on your coffee, but you mistake my flailing arms for a greeting when really, I’m just motioning for you to SLOW THE HELL DOWN.

It’s like you don’t even realize the speed you’re going. I get it. They’re my kids. I watch them with an eagle eye but why can’t you also obey the laws? We’ve taken the steps we can, but you still use the street as a race track. From a mother around the block to every asshole speeding in a car: Please, SLOW THE FUCK DOWN. And next time I see you, don’t be surprised if I call you an asshole. You’ve had it coming.