This one is for the ladies (or men with moobs). As I may have mentioned before, I have a healthy rack and every time I strap myself into a car, I am tortured by the shoulder harness. Talk about an over-the-shoulder-boulder-holder, the shitaceous strap never falls across my chest properly. It never, ever stays between my tatas. Instead of crossing in a straight diagonal line the way it should, it mashes one of my girls or it rides up so that the edge of the strap chafes my neck and puts me in a stranglehold. Sometimes—before I lose consciousness—I pull the harness up and over my head, so my seatbelt is the only thing holding me in and I feel like I’m in my dad’s old Dodge Charger, doing up safety old-school. I sit back against the strap until a collision propels me forward and my bladder bursts and my nose cracks against the dashboard. Nice work, car designers.
To wrap up this Saab story, I want to lash car engineers in the face with my shoulder harness for overlooking something so obvious that half of the driver’s license-carrying population winds up with road rash without ever actually hitting pavement. Next time, try designing a car with a double-D crash test dummy in the driver’s seat. Just a thought.