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Ode to the rolling igloo

Ode to the rolling igloo


Tribute to you, driver of unidentified sex, seen this week on one of the busiest highways on the North Shore of Montreal. At dawn, when the sun was barely showing up. Tribute to you, worthy driver of a Hyundai Elantra, probably white, and probably registered in Quebec.

Information that I am missing since your car like your license plate was buried under the snow. Nor can I confirm whether your car has tinted windows, since once again, the snow and ice prevented me from seeing them. And I imagine it was the same for you, since unlike tinted glass, snow does not have the property of camouflage on one side while being transparent on the other.< /p>

Tribute to you, who didn't see fit to turn on your headlights, even though they too were covered in snow. I imagine that if we accept not to see anything while driving, we assume in return that the others will not want to see us either. So, homage to you, who didn't take five minutes to clear your car of snow, although you took the time to lift the passenger's windscreen wiper arm to put a woolen sock on it. Probably the first stroke of the wiper combined with the weight of snow and ice will have made it give way. But hey, it's not as if this futile accessory was actually essential. After all, it is the passenger's. 

Tribute to you, but also to your roof, higher than that of a Ford F-150, because the snow sculpture that was grafted to it was such that children could have spent a day there playing king of the mountain . Obviously, if the car had been immobilized, which alas, was not the case.

Tribute to you, who had been riding for several minutes on the middle lane and the right lane, without really understanding this notion. Let's excuse the thing by the fact that your turn signal had been activated for several minutes, which I could see by this thin luminous gleam emanating from the snow, when I approached for the first time before taking my distance.

< p>I would also like to thank you for having saved me several jets of windshield washer because even if I followed you in the middle of traffic at a distance of five or six car lengths and at very low speed, you sent me constantly in the form of snow the windscreen washer necessary for me to maintain perfect visibility. If everyone had their hearts on their sleeves like you with this principle of putting others first, we would be much better off collectively.

Tribute also to this SQ car, which no doubt to thank you for this sharing, slowed down by your side while overtaking you, giving you a flash of flashing lights and horn, to then continue on its way. A friend of yours? Who knows. It's a pity that this policeman didn't have time to stop for a bit of a chat, you who seem so nice. That's the conclusion I came to seeing that you also need to reply to all those messages on your mobile device, the only glimmer I could see through that tennis ball-sized clearance hole of the driver's side window. A hole that unfortunately wasn't enough for you to see me because the moment I chose to pass you, you got in my way, as if you wanted us to kiss.

Not being single, I had to decline your proposal. I am sorry for that. It must be said that at the time, the urge to kiss you even violently was very strong. But I resisted, telling myself that the idea of ​​having your policeman friend come back for this act of gross indecency was not the best one.

In closing, I know that this ode to the igloo rolling will never win me an Oscar. Only, if he can allow this motorist to obtain even a snow brush of the same name, I will have done my part.

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