THE ANNUAL EH BRAH! ISSUE
Another year has passed, and another crop of Eh Brahs dealing with cars, trucks, roads, parking lots and other vehicle-related troubles has piled up on my desk. So have at it. And keep in mind that it takes just a little time out of your day to let us know about the parasites, fools and jerks who make Maui’s roads−and everything else−just a little less special. Oh, and be sure to remember that if you can’t beat ‘em, denounce ‘em anonymously!
Send anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations, 200 words or less (which we reserve the right to edit), changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent, to “Eh Brah!” c/o MauiTime,
33 N. Market St, Ste. 201, Wailuku, HI 96793 or send an e-mail to email@example.com
Eh Braddah (or sistah): You went and swiped the vents off my white 1993 Nissan pickup. That truck and I have been together a long time now, traveling all across Hawaii and the Mainland. She may be old, but I try to keep her looking decent. I bet you’re the kind of buggah who would steal the wheels off your auntie’s wheelchair just to build a soapbox racer. Anyway, I’m going to be watching out for trucks that have da kine vents like I used to have. If I see some, and find that they’re mine, the owner and his or her vehicle is going to be immobile for a long time. Happy trails to you, until we meet.
I saw you out of the corner of my eye. You were barreling down the hill on your skateboard, making the sharp turn onto South Kihei Road right in front of my car. I could tell you had control—but I was ready to react in case you did biff it face first in the street. I would rather avoid having your entrails intertwined with my drive train. That over-the-shoulder glance and screw-it-all shrug you displayed was exactly what I expected, too. Now I understand you don’t give a rat’s ass about anyone or anything including yourself, but next time you roll your sad, 100-pound sack of water and bones in front a moving car, take a split second to imagine the faces of your friends and family as they scatter your ashes into the deep blue. I wouldn’t miss your punk ass, but they sure as hell would.
In a way I should be calling out myself, but where’s the fun in that? See, I knew I’d have trouble from you, but I didn’t listen to that warning inside my head. I knew deep down that parking my car next to your van in the apartment complex parking lot was a mistake. I mean, I could just tell by looking at your van that you, well, just didn’t give a damn about anyone else. And you know what? I was right. I usually park pretty far away from you, but then the other night I got home late and the most convenient space was next to yours. I thought I could get away with it—it was just for one night!—but no. Sure enough, the next morning I found a nice dent in my car and you long gone. And you didn’t even leave a note!
Hey bruddah. You wanna make the island your home? Excellent! Might I suggest that a good start would be by not driving on Mokulele with one hand on the wheel and the other on a page in the VISTORS’ GUIDE TO FISHING. Really, there are drivers behind and beside you in traffic who would love to see their families every night. You, apparently, have only a points total or whatever it is you use to assign value to your life. In the future, just please, PLEASE stay away from me.
I’m going to call you Mr. and Mrs. Joe Schmuck. You drive a large silver truck. Lately I’ve been seeing you park in the handicapped parking space at Launiupoko Beach Park. There are just two handicapped parking spaces for disabled people at the park, but you always take one of them. Now I know you’re not disabled, because I’ve often watched you two get out and then head off to ride some waves. I’ve also seen you at Kanaha Beach Park unloading windsurfing gear and windsurfing there. You should be ashamed of yourselves! Those handicapped parking stalls are for people who cannot surf, much less walk, and want to enjoy the park. You are really inconsiderate schmucks! Listen, I am tired of seeing able-bodied people using these parking spaces. Why don’t you give up the handicap spots and just park with the rest of us?
You were driving down Piilani Highway in your Tundra truck. I guess you didn’t realize that as you were racing down the highway, a million styrofoam packing peanuts were flying out of the bed and messing up the aina. That was me waving my hands at you in your rear-view mirror, trying to make you aware of the mess you were creating. And you, hardworking condo-cleaning professional that you were, how could you have been so completely oblivious to the roll of paper towels waving in the wind behind your truck? It unspooled until the whole thing was just a heap on the side of the road. And anybody else with an open-bed truck: do you really think anything lighter than a watermelon will actually stay in the bed? I always wondered where all the rubbish at the side of the road came from since I rarely see anyone actually throw something out of a car window. But then I realized most of it comes flying out of trucks! Please, take a moment before driving off to make sure there’s nothing in your truck’s bed that could fly out.
Eh brah, I was watching you in your tourist jeep the other day. What were you thinking when you stopped right in the middle of Dairy Road? Seriously−everyone’s driving at normal speed, and then you just… stopped. In the middle of the road. Like it was a parking lot. Come on brah, you could have caused one accident. They don’t let you do crazy stuff like that back on the Mainland, so why’d you think it would be okay here? Brah, you must be one French fry short of a Happy Meal.
Hey, haole dude who just ran across the street in front of me: What makes you think that you own the whole road and won’t get hit? Why don’t you try looking both ways before crossing the street? Didn’t you learn that in elementary school? It’s pretty simple: first turn your head to the left, then to the right and then to the left again. If there are no cars coming towards you, then you can cross. You got lucky crossing in front of me because I was paying attention–next time, who knows.