I beg to differ with a few of the assumptions Mr. Hans Eisenbeis makes in his recent article on SUVs [Good Intentions, February], but in the interest of space, I’ll only rant on one: I have no self-hatred nor is any element of my sense of self tied up in my opinions about SUVs. I hate SUVs so much, I even renamed them a few years ago—after practically being run off the road once again by a white, gold-trimmed, dinosauric SUV driven by a petite soul whose head was no bigger than the “switch to 4-wheel drive” toggle. I now call them FUVs. The new name reflects what I really wanted to say after that incident. But, due to my “reasonable” nature (apparently due to my Northern European roots, according to Hans), I could only sigh. And daydream of making a citizen’s arrest for attempted vehicular homicide. I hate the FUVs of the world because:
—I can’t see around them when they’re behind or in front of me. They impair my ability to drive defensively.
—They’re gaudy—incredibly ugly—and now so damn popular that my otherwise psuedo-cool-n-campy view of Anywhere, U.S.A.’s Main Street is wrecked. It’s now just plain old ugly.
—The popularity of gas-guzzling FUVs has raised the price of gasoline. I am absolutely, positively 100 percent sure of it.
—When FUVs park next to me, I have to pull out of a spot blindly. If I ever hit anyone/thing because of that, I’m just going to have the victim call the FUV owner’s insurance company.
I hate very few things. I hate bigots, I hate polyester pants, and now I hate FUVs. It’s that simple. No extra passion, no nothin’, other than they drive me crazy. People I love and care for drive them. My siblings drive them, my friends drive them, my boss even drives them. But I’ll always hate FUVs—no matter who drives them or how they’re packaged; no matter how “cute” or “cool” automakers try to make them.
Betsy Gabler, St. Paul
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