Traffic Tragedies (or where you die defines how much you die)

I recently wrote about the 3.8 litres V6 we bought. Now, we’re living in ‘The Hills’ were it’s not uncommon that you’ll have to traverse 10 metres in hight with each 10 metres in width. Actually, sometimes I wonder why I throw myself off a cliff, even though the locals say it’s a road. But in the end, you throw yourself over that edge just hoping to make it to the other side (of the road, not life, please, I’m not that religious!)

Anyway, each monday I buy a newspaper just as I did in the Netherlands. You see, a Monday newspaper is way more interesting than any other newspaper because it’ll have all the weekend sports results, the finance market has had a full 2 days to not invest or retract money and any politician you know spilling their fruitless ideas can’t have had his/her idea through the parliament. So there is no paper like the monday paper. It’s probably the only paper you’ll ever need as the Friday afternoon paper is just a paper to remind you that your life is so freakish boring that you need a paper to remind you. If you’re not a paper reader, just get the monday paper to wipe your arse with, it’ll last till thursday and it wouldn’t hurt your mind to read the remainder.

As always, not to make a short story into a long one, I only read papers by lack of any digital media. So yeah, I sometimes buy a paper. In NSW, each paper reports the death toll in traffic for each weekend. Now, I wouldn’t dare to compare Australia to Holland (I mean, both have around 20 million people, both have a decent life, but only one of them have the space to live that life shared with 1000 other people in just 10 square metres, but who cares, it forces you to meet someone else eh?)

If you die in a traffic accident in Holland, all you’ll achieve as news value is something like ‘210 people died in tragic mistake’, when your traindriver painfully took the wrong track. Or ’21 died in tragic mistake’, when someone killed your busdriver at full speed. ‘100 killed by mistake’ on page 6, just below the advertisements for fireplace woodworks.

Here, you ask? Here you die at least 21 times. The first time being the most painful as it’s the one time you really die in traffic. Probably being run over by a car that weights at least 3 tonnes. However with your remains of your face intact, you’ll make the local news at least 5 times, first just by being death, then because it was on a road, third because someone else hit you and perhaps a fourth or fifth time just because it was on a sunday or saturday, who knows.

Then, because you’ve just died in a tragic accident, the newspaper fills up with stories of other people that have died at 1) that same road, close that f***** road 2) that same shire, close that f****** shire!, 3) same date, close that f****** date and 4) at the same age, people shouldn’t be allowed to get to that age damnit!. At least, here you don’t die alone, you die at least 18 times, 12 times in different positions in different newspapers and another 6 times in the years after when you’re remembered because someone else died.

But if you just managed to get your local barn into space and back and had contact with other species (preferably vulcan) from outer space who seem to have fun in making grain/crop circles, no worries, the chance of being hit by a flying saucer compared to a bullbar is 0 to less-than-nothing, so no worries mate, it’s more probable you’ll die from a stingray than a crock… unless you near the roads, where death is luring around each corner.

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