Full disclosure: I once owned a 1978 BMW something or other for about two seconds before I wrecked it. I was never so happy to suffer from cerebral hematoma-induced vertigo and nausea in my entire life.
Seriously though, WHAT'S THE DEAL (/seinfeld) with BMW owners? Are they eugenic fucking mutants, somehow loosed upon an unsuspecting world? Are they hatched in some Bavarian lab? Are you required to take a DNA and/or MMPI test before you're allowed to purchase a precious Ultimate Driving Machine?
These thoughts and more wandered through my mind today as I observed a large BMW try to cut into a five car line for a parking deck today, almost hitting my (inferior due to non-ultimate-bavarianosity VW) Beetle. I KNOW he saw the line of cars, because I watched him pull out of the end of the line and proceed to try to shove his Teutonic snout into my fender so as to get into the deck first.
Because, I assume, he's just that important. I mean, he IS driving a BMW, after all.
Lest you think this an isolated incident, Dear Reader, either to the brand itself or to Los Angeles in general, let me assure you that it is not. Nine out of ten Episodes of Driving Assholetry experienced by either myself or friends I have queried are, indeed, BMW-committed.
And not just here in LA, mind you. As I was motoring down the M4 one lovely fall day towards London, I espied, on the otherwise empty three lane road behind me, a car coming up on me in my lane VERY fast, blinking its lights in a fury of get-out-of-my-way-importance. I was in the slow lane. It roared up to me, in the slow lane, almost hitting me, honking in anger because I didn't move out of the slow lane for it, and then screeched around me, in the slow lane, in a hissy-fit furor. As I was fairly frightened that car was gonna drive up my ass, I didn't notice the make until after it pulled around me (in the SLOW FUCKING LANE)... what a shock: BMW.
"Damn, even in England," I said to the radio. No escape.
Other examples of Bavarian Motor Wanketry:
At an intersection with Wilshire Boulevard, both lanes required to turn right: Due to those pesky laws of physics mandating that two objects cannot occupy the same place at the same time, the inner lane is required to stay on the inside lane of Wilshire and the outside lane is required to turn into the middle lane. The BMWhoooore on the inside flips me off when I turn into the middle lane, where I guess she deserved to be because she's so special;
Crescent Heights Boulevard: BManlyW drives up onto the curb
to get around me in the right lane so he can get to the red light
faster. Is pissed when I'm in the way and he can't get back in the
left lane when the light turns green;
The venerable parking deck of Beverly Hills: stopped in the middle of both lanes waiting for a parking spot, refusing to move even though we all knew it was her goddamn spot, even as bigger, though farther from the elevator by, oh, ten feet or so, spots were clearly visible, answering the extended honks form OTHER BMWads with a classy middle finger;
Any time, anywhere: Much racing around and hairy eyeball-giving in order to get to various and sundry red lights faster.
MUST! GET! TOREDLIGHT!
I could go on and on, but it's time for a drinky treat.
To be fair, I once saw a BMW not only use a turn signal (no - for real), but actually waiting for space to enter my lane; it had an Apple sticker on the back window.
Dude, Steve Jobs can fix ANYTHING. I wonder what he drives?