When I first moved to Denmark over two years ago, I was convinced that I would encounter a country whose inhabitants did everything better.
Reason vs nonsense
And for the most part, I was right. (God, I’m getting tired of saying that.) We Brits had just embarked on a decade-long struggle to wipe out in a spectacular way everything that made living in Britain fun, with tragedies like Brexit and Boris Johnson, who served as shit lighthouses on our crusade to disaster.
The Danes, on the other hand, seemed sensible. A willingness to contribute to a welfare state from cradle to grave, rather than a capitalist corpocracy fever dream? Yes please. A healthy lack of respect for America, as opposed to some strange, heartfelt desperation to copy its most destroyed political and social institutions? Of course.
Do you want to drive in a way that does not endanger every living soul within a radius of 40 miles? Well then…
Bumper to bumper
I have been driving in Denmark since my arrival, primarily due to need, but also inspired by my phobia of the ozone layer.
And even though it took time, I have to admit for every day that passes… I am nowhere closer to understanding why (fan) Danes are so damn mental when they get behind the wheel.
It costs around 25,000 kroner and four months to learn to drive in Denmark. I can not be sure what they are learning in these terribly overpriced places, but I can only assume that it includes at least seven hours of driving as close to the rear of the car in front of you as physically possible. Bonuses are apparently awarded if the car in front belongs to a Jack Gardner Vaa from the City of Copenhagen.
Highway madness
An additional module presumably exists to perfect the art of driving on a HIGHWAY while looking straight down and texting your phone while swinging through the traffic with gay abandonment that I saw most recently yesterday.
“Oh, Jack,” you say. “It’s just a bad experience, just avoid new, stupid, young drivers like that.”
Cheers, cock, but this was a 50-year-old businessman in a brand new jeep. I’m not saying he’s smart, I’m just pointing out that the nuisance of shocking Danish driving exceeds all demographics and stereotypes. It would be almost heartwarming if only it did not involve a two-ton metal bullet running into me at uncontrollable speeds.
Always a good indicator
While I have the supposed attention from Danish driving schools, if you could find it in your hearts to look up the word ‘indicate’ and then put together some meaning between the definition and the little stick that protrudes from your steering wheel?
At the moment I think you have taught … let me just check the statistics here … oh yes, every SINGLE Danish driver that this stick is something to fear. That it must not even be seen with the naked Scandinavian eye, such is its mysterious, destructive power.
Destroy Paul’s drag race? None!
Finally, the authorities. You have honestly done a fantastic job of imposing a fine of DKK 510 on me when I parked my car 8.42 meters away from a corner instead of 10 meters.
I only have two small notes. One, I’m glad you managed to avoid getting caught up in the nightly drag races that take place on my street. The other is that you could park not one-but-two Peugeots in the space I left between my car and the corner, with less hassle than it took you to print the ticket out, in absolute fascists.
I realize as I finish writing this that I have become everything I have ever hated: an angry white man complaining about traffic. Thank you, Denmark.
I might as well lean in. I have to download the back catalog with ‘Top Gear’, which I can see on my phone while driving to Esbjerg.
Source: The Nordic Page