The 401 is where they weed out the weak. You don’t drive on the 401 to get somewhere. You do it for the challenge. You do it to test your abilities like some Uchiha clan shit. Rush hour 401 is the breaking point between heaven and earth. Are you going to descend into a Lovecraftian hell or reach Nirvana? You will double the size of your biceps death-gripping your steering wheel. There is no time for rest or pulling off over into an exit. Bodily functions shut down. Cars on the side of the road and crashes closing lanes are a constant reminder that you are driving the razor’s edge. Death is mere seconds away at any given moment. They’re always doing construction but nothing is ever finished. It’s a constant roadblock for the hell of it. This is the Dark Souls 2 of Canadian driving. git good or get out
And that’s just normal mode. Have fun in the six-month long Ontario winter and enter some top-tier level of highway driving.
EVO2015. EVO2018.
I heard that babies are born on the 401, grow up on the 401, and take over for their parents as driver of the family car on the 401
What the fuck.
I live right by the 401 i never knew it was so weird i just thought all highways were like that
i was at a grocery store really late one night and some old guy kind of eyed me as i walked out of the store next to this other lady. She and I made eye contact and i knew she was scared too. we loaded up our groceries into our cars as fast as possible and I had way more bags than her so she got done faster than me. I panicked because i was sure she was going to leave so i just hurried faster, shaking a little, and then i noticed she sat in her car, watching me and making sure nobody came near. She waited not until all my groceries were loaded, or until my cart was put away, or until I got into my car. No, she didn’t drive away until I drove away.
And that was the moment that I realized how much women need other women. That we can’t win this war without each other and we have to be looking out for each other, every second.
my last year in new york city, i got off the subway around 9 or 10p.m. i only lived about 5 blocks from the f train, but i hadn’t gotten more than two before a woman’s hand suddenly touched my arm.
“that guy behind us is following you,” she said. “he was watching you leave the train car and followed you up.”
i hadn’t noticed him, or at least not noticed him following me. when we stopped outside a grocery store, he stopped half a block back and loitered. the woman linked her arm with mine and walked me several blocks out of her way to my front door and made sure i got inside safely.
another time, nocigar and i were walking home and at a stoplight a stranger grabbed my arm when i wouldn’t respond to him and tried to physically drag me over to him. she—who is, by the way, not a very physically imposing girl—ripped his hand off my arm and snarled, “don’t fucking touch her.”
protect your friends. protect strangers. there are good men in the world, but don’t wait for them to do something if you can do it yourself.
I was at a club once and my friend left with her boyfriend so I finished my drink and was heading out to the parking lot when three girls came up to me and basically surrounded me.
“Those guys behind us were talking about following you. We can walk with you.”
I have MMA training but have never in my life had been offered the protection and sanction of my own gender. This is so important.
GIRL CODE. FUCKIN’ GIRL CODE. LEAVE NO GIRL BEHIND. EVER.
