We are driven

So I'm driving to work on Seneca Turnpike this morning, about halfway up the hill where construction crews are building the new overpass for route 81. Traffic is slow but steady until a flag-lady steps out and stops everything to let a cement mixer pull out. The truck makes its move, the flag-lady waves traffic on, and the Toyota two cars ahead lurches and stalls. I see the driver, a young woman apparently not too experienced with her manual transmission, becoming more and more flustered as she restarts the engine, lurches and stalls again. Twice.

After the third attempt, the car between us starts honking, its driver wildly gesticulating and hollering. I can't make out the words — for which I should probably be grateful. The woman kept at it, and with some mighty revving and a jarring screech, finally managed to get her Toyota moving up the hill. The honking bonehead in front of me stayed right on her tail, swerving around her at the traffic light and gunning down Brighton. But before it disappeared, I did manage to catch two of the stickers on the back:

PRACTICE RANDOM ACTS OF KINDNESS

HATRED IS NOT A FAMILY VALUE

Yup. I see.