Accord of Blatant Courtesy

Where'd all the Good People Go?

The telltale sign of summer weekends used to be idiocy on usually-tepid roadways; if you were tailgated in a school zone or honked at for not flooring it at a green light, a Benny was surely the culprit. The nomenclature seemed less a classification of a northern visitor than a term describing someone who violated intimate Shorelife. Once Monday morning dawned, a collective sigh of relief from the locals provided a Parkway tailwind for homeward-bound Benny holdouts.

Now, that collective sigh is full of hot air. The cry of "Benny Go Home!" seems little more than a hypocritical, bumpersticker catchphrase which selfishly boasts Shore Status, not Shore Pride. While there was a time when we wished Monday morning would restore our family- and community-centric lifestyle, Monday's just another manic day.

Life, specifically travel, doesn't get easier when Benny leaves. Roads are less voluminous, but drivers are equally selfish and careless. The person in front of you can't drive fast enough, and you can't drive fast enough for the driver behind you. There's as great a chance of being sadistically tailed by a street-sweeper on Tuesday as a token, NY-plated Escalade on Saturday.

So why force Benny home? Are we the only ones allowed to drive maniacally, to disregard pedestrians, to toss cigarette butts curbward from our own downtown shops, or treat others like un-important obstacles in our, apparently, very important lives?

I don't expect to exterminate this self-absorption as easily as we have the deer population. But I want those old values prominently displayed again, and I want Shore purists – the ones who love this place for the beautiful, intimate mix of nature it is – to lead. There's no better example of this social disintegration then driving etiquette, and I offer this attempt at a solution. Sign my Accord of Blatant Courtesy and unite, locals, to save the Shore.

Repeat after me: "I, (state your name), a Jersey Shore lover, promise, to the best of my ability, to uphold the Shore principles of intimacy, courtesy, and family. I will do this while traveling through local hamlets by:

1. Abiding by the definition of "limit". I understand that a limit is a maximum, and around here, the faster I drive, the sooner I'll end up running into a traffic light or another's rearview mirror.
2. Applying my indicator before, not during, a turn. I understand that other drivers have eyes and can see my auto turning, but, unless they are Miss Cleo, are unable to read my mind and prepare accordingly.
3. Stopping, completely, at all indicated signs. I understand that gliding my auto's nose into an intersection not only endangers myself but also scares the pants off other drivers.
4. Granting right-of-way to left-turning drivers. I understand that, especially at intersections, I'm able to restrain an entire traffic pattern, and emancipate oncoming traffic, by this simple action.
5. Yielding to pedestrians. I understand that the absence of wheels beneath their feet doesn't make them less important.
6. Waving.

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If you wish to sign this agreement, simply post a response to this blog post. If I were more internet-savvy, I'd find a place to start an online petition or something, but I'm not, so let's keep it simple. But who knows, maybe in the next two days I'll find one. Thanks.

Where'd that Accord Come From?

The idea for the Accord of Blatant Courtesy, and the subsequent letter it appears in, was definitely influenced by two specific events, but the truth of its message is reitterated on a daily basis by friends, family, and strangers alike. The first event was referenced in the letter, the second was too ridiculous to expand on for my 500 word limit. But here goes.
While driving home from church one early afternoon a licence-plateless vehicle appears in my rearview mirror with a handicapped tag hanging from its own rearview. I stop at a pedestrian crosswalk to allow two girls to cross from another church into the town square, and this is not something my Rearview Amigo is fond of. He continues to follow close behind as we approach town, and tightly trails me through two turns. Oh yeah, he's toting two jetskis on a trailer. That's right, handicapped tag + jetskis = either tremendous foreshadowing or tag abuse. So I maintain the speed limit to the max, much to the chagrine of Rearview Amigo, stop at another crosswalk, and proceed home with him close behind. He is not happy. He yells from his window, something unintelligible, as I turn on my street and I shout back, "Slow down." Why is a handicapped person in such a rush to get his 2 jetskis into the water? And if so, why is he using residential roads?
I leave Rt. 34 Landscape Supply with a bed-full of brown dyed mulch (which is really of no consequence). I reach a travel road at the same time a Wall Public Works Streetsweeper reaches the road 20 feet away from the recycling center. He will be traveling my direction as I turn onto the road, and I use him as blocker to ease my heavy load into the roadway. Before my blinker can hit its automatic shutoff position, Streetsweeper has filled my rearview mirror with this steed and my ears with his horn. Granted, the speed limit on the road is 40mph. But I had no idea Streetsweeper had the pickup of a funny car. Who was driving that thing, John Force? And where's the respect of fellow service workers?
Anyway, those were my two wake-up calls. Thanks for reading!

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Sign the Accord of Blatant Courtesy!