In 2009, The Insurance Institute for Highway Safety conducted a crash test between a 1959 Chevrolet Bel Air and a 2009 Chevy Malibu. The video plainly shows how much progress has been made in passenger safety in those 50 years. Even though the Malibu is much lighter, its crumple zone absorbs much of the impact while the Bel Air lets the newer car’s front end slam right into the driver.1
Even though I’ve seen crash test footage before, I was shocked at how quickly the airbag deployed in the newer car…it’s fully inflated before the rest of the car and its occupants even realize that inertia is about to do some bad things.
And LOL to the truthers in the comments insisting that the test was flawed (there was an engine in the Bel Air, BTW) and that good ol’ American cars were built like tanks back in the day and therefore are impervious to harm.↩
10r3:
it is so upsetting listening to so many males talk about all of the times they have gone on road trips alone and slept in their cars alone or on the side of the road, or travelled overseas alone and slept on the floor of strangers homes or in parks or at hostels, and they appear to have such freedom in that they are able to be alone in ways that females, unfortunately, cannot. and there is an ignorance surrounding this in that these boys never seem to comprehend just how fortunate they are that strange people and unfamiliar places and the dark of night are not their enemies but rather exciting, promising things.
“Yes, my consuming desire is to mingle with road crews, sailors and soldiers, barroom regulars—to be a part of a scene, anonymous, listening, recording—all this is spoiled by the fact that I am a girl, a female always supposedly in danger of assault and battery. My consuming interest in men and their lives is often misconstrued as a desire to seduce them, or as an invitation to intimacy. Yes, God, I want to talk to everybody as deeply as I can. I want to be able to sleep in an open field, to travel west, to walk freely at night…”
― Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
It’s funny that this should come across my dash tonight. A few hours ago (about 10PM my time), I took the dog I’m watching for a walk in his neighborhood. It was fully dark, and while there were streetlights, visibility wasn’t great. Deep down, I knew I would be fine and that even if there was some ne’er-do-well lurking in the shadows, the presence of this big dog would probably be deterrent enough. Nevertheless, I felt the need to keep my pocket-knife in my hand as we walked, and as we went around one particularly dimly-lit corner, I flicked the blade out for easier access and jogged until we got back into the light of the nearest street lamp. The sad thing is, as ridiculous and neurotic as it (should) sound to be walking in a suburban neighborhood with a knife at the ready “just in case,” I’ve been mugged in my own neighborhood, and that fear is always there. I sat on the porch and read after our walk, but I didn’t stay out long because it was just the dog and me and when he started barking at something I couldn’t see, my first instinct was to go right inside and lock the door. Best thing to do in that situation? Yeah, probably. But should I have to feel that way? Hell no! …Right?