"Say, man, have you seen my new SHOTGUN?!" We invented ingenious ways to claim the front seat and we had rules, like the car must be in sight (don't shoot till you see the bulbs of its headlights)and bellowing "BLITZ!" was the best defense to get your fat friend to sit bitch (the leprous hump of upholstery commonly known as the rear middle seat that you wouldn't want to be caught dead in). Seatbelt - if provided - optional. And let's face it, is there any point to using a lap belt without the shoulder harness, except that you would like your torso separated from your legs in an accident?
Someone should invite our friends from the south to play. An enormous F-250 work truck lumbers by me because the dope in front of me is going 7 MPH UNDER the posted limit, and I nearly hit the sap, for there are four fully grown men competing for real estate in the front seat. There is a perfectly good and roomy back seat in the truck's cab, but these dusty sweaty fellas resemble sardines squished to one side of an accommodating tin, but these sardines have mustaches.
It's machismo, or pride that prods the Mexican men to sit on each others's laps. I asked my buddy Francisco "what's up with that?" He said, "oh, it's just machismo, man. Women and children belong in the back." Sheesh. I know there's a lot of Mexican women named Rosa, but amigos, when Rosa isn't aquí, the backseat may not be quite as inviting, but it's a lot less cramped.
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