A CRAZED DRIVER BLAZES DOWN MY BLOCK; WHAT TO DO?

What do you do when some damn fool whips his turbocharged car past you, accelerating up to 60 mph (my estimate) on the block where you live?

Mme. Magpie – a past Advisory Neighborhood Commissioner - and her hubby – the current Advisory Neighborhood Commissioner of our Dupont Circle neighborhood - and a constituent were walking back from a community meeting the other night, when we were practically blown away by the undertow when a fancy foreign car went barreling past us like greased lightning, slamming on the brakes at the last possible minute at the end of the block. It was one of the worst exhibits of unsafe, risky city driving I’ve seen on our block, and I’ve lived at the same address for the past forty years.

There was no way I could let this outrage pass without notice. So I walked up to the car and called the driver on his life-threatening deed – I used no bad words, didn’t lose my temper and didn’t raise my voice. He responded with a sneer about

• how important he is (he said he was a doctor) and

• did I have any idea to whom I was talking, and

• who the hell did I think I was, anyhow, and

•how he intended to repeat his NASCAR experience ”multiple times” now that he knew where we live.

He then proceeded to unleash a full-blown diatribe, filled with unpleasant and certainly erroneous assumptions about what people who objected to his driving must be like. He swore

• that we were old geezers who disapproved of urban street life

• that we must think that everyone living here should be and act just like us, and

• that we wanted to prevent a varied, urban neighborhood.

His final, grand point was that because we lived in the city we had no right to expect people to obey traffic laws – I guess traffic laws must be strictly suburban. He told me, and I quote, “this is the city and I can do anything I want to here.” Perhaps I should be grateful that he didn’t have a Terrible Two temper tantrum on the spot. (Actually, short of lying on the ground, kicking his legs and holding his breath, that’s exactly what he was doing.)

I responded quietly, trying to explain that all I wanted was some sane driving on the block where I live, and that this was not an unreasonable expectation. At that, he stormed off in high dudgeon, disappearing into the evening crowd on 17^th Street.

I was afraid both of what further dangerous actions he might do with his car if he had (any more) alcohol in him, and I was dismayed by his threats to rerun a Grand Prix Course on Corcoran Street. And so I called the MPD.

The police responded quickly and in force. They took seriously his potential for dangerous driving as well as his threats to return and deliberately speed on the little street where I live – a short block with plenty of pedestrian traffic due to the “Soviet” Safeway on our block. Unfortunately, we didn’t know where he had gone, and after several minutes of waiting to see if he might return, the MPD slid off to check out other urban city activities. It was another night in Dodge on a street that used to be called Stab Alley.