I live in a major city, and I’m constantly afraid. Not of crime, overpopulation, or gentrification. Those are secondary to the real problem we urbanites face every few years:
The problem of Dominic Toretto and his family of ne’er-do-wells.
At first, their car racing was mostly limited to nighttime drag races on secluded streets. I’m a fan of auto safety rules (and I don’t care for misplaced male aggression), so I wasn’t happy. But hey, at least their squabbles didn’t endanger hundreds of lives. Plus, not many people were talking about it. They were a niche interest, the kind of thing guys in muscle tees talk about while you're trying to ignore them.
But now they're a goddamn phenomenon.
Every few years, this crew of sassy roadsters pops up in the middle of a new city, wreaking all kinds of increasingly absurd havoc. Did you see what they did in São Paulo? Or Abu Dhabi? These dudes were driving through buildings and hauling a literal bank vault through the streets. You read that right: a bank vault. It was attached to a car bumper with a cord, so every time the driver made a turn, another Starbucks was taken out by a big metal box.
Let's set aside the laws of physics (because they clearly have). What about the laws of man? Why do we keep giving these globe-hopping gearheads a pass every time they treat our urban centers like a big ‘ol playground for real-life Hot Wheels?
I know what you're probably thinking: “Shouldn't we blame the bad guys, not Toretto?” But they keep befriending the bad guys! Every time they cause millions of dollars of damage, guess who is now part of the family? The bad guy from the last time they caused millions of dollars of damage!
Somehow what they did in New York may be worst of all.
My cousin Kevin drives Uber in Manhattan, and he was just going about his day when Dom and his crew started their triennial testosterone-fueled fight. Mind you, this family’s fights aren’t like the fights you and I are used to, where we internalize our hatred and act passive-aggressive toward our in-laws. No, in this fight, these dudes (and a girl who is always dressed for the beach) started throwing cars at each other. Dozens and dozens of cars were literally falling from parking garages, because that’s the nightmare world we live in now. Kevin can’t even work anymore; he’s too scared Dominic Toretto’s long-lost identical twin is going to make it rain Subarus.
This chicanery has simply gone on too long, and I’ve heard some horrible rumors recently—rumors about this “family” messing with tanks, submarines, and makeshift spaceships. What will they do next? It can only get more ridiculous from here, but what’s more ridiculous than a spaceship? I don’t want to find out, but I’m afraid I will.
You see, my city has everything this crew seems to like: the aforementioned beach, a seedy underbelly, and a vaguely Latin hip-hop scene that comes alive at night. So, yeah, I’m afraid we’ll be next. So this is my plea to you, Mr. Toretto:
Please use your words.
Don’t bring your quarrel to our city.
Maybe try leg day every now and then, too.
And while I have your attention, maybe consider going electric?