I don’t really like how they look, how big they are, how they consume resources, or how their owners usually drive them - with that "I will roll over you like the Terminator and keep going as though I didn’t notice" attitude. And half the time, they probably wouldn’t notice.
Usually, and especially when gas was over 4 bucks a gallon, I like to point and laugh at HUMMER owners, gleefully telling myself how happy I am I get 40 miles to a gallon and they get like, 8.
But last Friday it was all different. It snowed over a foot here in Detroit. Nobody was laughing at anyone in a HUMMER. Nobody.
In fact, I watched them drive through the snow, with confidence and motor swagger, while I gripped my steering wheel like a little girl on a roller coaster. I was scared and nervous and freaking out.
The HUMMER rode through the mess, the driver hardly throwing a glance at the peasants and wimps in their little 4-cylinder sleds, sliding off the road into ditches and ravines. I saw Mustangs in ditches. Toyotas in ditches. Hondas and Buicks in ditches.
But not one HUMMER. Nope. Not one.
So, for one day – this past Friday – the first big winter storm this season in Michigan, I saluted HUMMER owners and wished I was one. I envied them and wanted to be them. I wanted to roll down the frozen and treacherous roads with no fear – determined, proud, powerful, and vicious.
I wanted a HUMMER. I wanted one bad.
But today, I’m back to normal. I’m glad I don’t own one and I pretty much hate them again.