I like my car. It gets me to where I need to go, nothing more, nothing less. It gets used for the school run and the occasional drive on the beach. That’s it.

My self-worth has never been coupled to the type of car I drive. I figure it would be irrational to get an ego boost from the type of microwave oven I have, or the brand of hot water system that’s hooked up to the house. Why, then, would I feel better or worse about myself based on the type of vehicle I own?

I have noticed that, at least on the road, people do not like small cars. Doesn’t matter what road, what speed, or what time of the day, people must – almost at any cost – overtake a Jimny. It’s both peculiar and dangerous.

I have a theory about this overtaking phenomenon. Darwinian forces create biosocial hierarchies. This affects how we queue, and, by corollary, drive. We accept superiors being in front of us. We indulge peers alongside us. We absolutely expect the lesser folk to stay behind us. Deviations from these heuristics break our software.

Of course, we should be better than this. But we’re not.

So know your place small car drivers; the douchebags and weekend warriors need to get past.

And know your place lame people. Disabled people. Disfigured people. Minorities. The poor. We can’t do much about you any more; it pains us, on a deep level, to have to tolerate you at all. It really does. But, with sufferance, we will.

Barely.

Reluctantly.

Just don’t dare get in front…