Bummer, a Hummer

There's a new red Hummer in my part of town. I've seen the vehicle about 10 times in the last couple of weeks in a handful of the parking lots I frequent.

I haven't seen the driver yet, though it's not for lack of trying. The last few times, I've parked near it, hoping we might return to our vehicles about the same time -- you know, so I can see what kind of guy buys a big red Hummer and so I can give him the stinkeye. Once, I was pretty sure there was someone actually in the Hummer as it sat in the lot, but it has tinted windows so I couldn't tell for certain. I sat and watched the windows a few seconds and briefly considered following him when he left the lot, but, as it occurred to me I might be getting uncomfortably close to my state's legal definition of stalking, I decided to cease and desist before someone knocked on my window to serve me with a restraining order and perhaps Tased me for good measure.

Although I don't know the driver, naturally I despise him and everything he stands for. Not just a Hummer, mind you, but a bright red one -- a means of transport that essentially serves as a big, fat F-you to every other living thing on the planet. I presume when I do get a glimpse of him opening his door, a couple of dozen Styrofoam cups and a half barrel of crude oil will spill out on the ground, along with the corpse of a baby seal and a nest full of broken bald-eagle eggs. He'll jack a round into the chamber of his concealed handgun -- because, you know, you can't be too careful in the produce section of the Super Saver grocery store -- and empty his ashtray on the woman in the Celica underneath that he crushed and dragged for a couple of miles.

Yes, we do tend to stereotype people based on the vehicles they drive, don't we? In particular, some theorize that men -- like the guy in the red Hummer whose guts I hate -- see their vehicles as an expression of their manhood, as in the bigger and showier, the better. Some amateur psychoanalysts go so far as to intimate that some men tend to overcompensate with their vehicle choice -- as in the larger their car, the smaller their crankshaft, if you know what I mean.

I don't know about that, though it is reported that shortly after the guy invented the first wheel, a second guy rolled out of his cave a much larger wheel, and then a third guy, said, "look here" and produced four of them along with a bitchin' sound system, a pine-tree air-freshener hanging from the rear-view mirror and mud flaps with nekkid cavewomen on 'em -- whereupon the first guy went off with his club on the third dude, in the first instance of road rage, albeit before the first road had even been built. Moments later, OPEC formed, McDonald's established the first drive-through window, the first birds were flipped between drivers, and the automotive age was off and running.

My own vehicles, in case you're wondering, have included a Chevy Impala station wagon, Citation and Malibu; a Nissan Stanza; a Ford Festiva; a GMC Sonoma pickup truck; Nissan Quest, Voyager and Caravan minivans; and a Saturn. I might be in the market for one of the Smartcars, though I'm waiting for them to add the option of a handle on top so if it breaks down you can just carry it home.

I don't know what sort of statement, if any, I'm making with those vehicles -- and, no, I'm not inviting suggestions from readers. I would point out, however, that if you're looking for truly virile, manly men, never mind the Hummers, sportscars and half-block-long pickup trucks. Check out us guys in the minivans -- you know, the ones from which children spill out of every door and, it seems, even from underneath.

I won't know what to think if I finally catch up with the red Hummer, and, instead of some guy, out steps a woman who, it turns out, has been eyeing with concern that grubby green Sonoma that keeps showing up near her in parking lots -- the one filled with old newspapers and fast-food wrappers and being driven by a schlubby, middle-aged dude who, for some reason, is always scowling in her direction. Somehow, she's jumped to the conclusion that the driver of such a vehicle must be a pathetic, yet maybe dangerous, loser.

I just hope I get a chance to explain myself before I get a face full of pepper spray.