Columnist Susan Snyder: LV drivers can’t pass spill drill

Friday, July 18, 2003 | 5:48 a.m.

WEEKEND EDITION

July 20, 2003

Susan Snyder's column appears Mondays, Tuesdays, Fridays and Sundays. Reach her at snyder@lasvegassun.com or (702) 259-4082.

Claudette Madison will never forget driving with the taco.

"It just broke and spilled everywhere," the Las Vegas woman said. "And coffee. I've spilled a lot of coffee."

Last week Sperling's Best Places deemed Las Vegas the 42nd best city for driving in the United States. Our town earned 57.6 out of a possible 100 points in the survey that considered smooth driving surfaces, freely flowing traffic, gas prices and climate.

Smooth roads and traffic flow are important considerations if one is going to snack on any of the 10 most dangerous foods to eat while driving, which were rated last week by another group, insurance.com.

It is amazing, of course, that a society of drivers who cannot manage the intricacies of a four-way stop or traffic circle have mastered the art of doing everything behind the wheel except actually driving.

We can talk on the phone, change CDs, change DVDs, adjust the internal temperature, fiddle with cruise control, check the external temperature, diddle with a global positioning system, suck down a soda and eat a taco.

At the same time.

At 80 mph.

What's the worst food or drink for driving? Coffee, the survey says, followed by hot soup, tacos, chili, hamburgers, barbecue, fried chicken, filled donuts, soft drinks and chocolate.

Cardiologists would tell us we shouldn't eat any of that stuff at any time. But insurance companies, and probably traffic cops, wish we would simply stop eating junk food while driving.

Madison did most of her behind-the-wheel munching when she worked as a dealer in a casino 25 miles from her home.

"That's when I spilled a lot," she said. "Jelly-filled donuts. You don't want those. I had lemon cream all over me once. And it was a white shirt. We wore white shirts for our uniforms. I always spilled coffee all down the front."

Her first stop often was the casino uniform shop, where workers applied a magic substance that made stains disappear.

For me, the difference between life and death often teeters on a handful of shredded lettuce.

Its evil tendrils peek from all edges as I slowly peel back the foil of a typical fast-food meat product on a bun. There is no telling from which end the globby mustard-mayo-packed mess will fall into my lap.

And it plays this sinister game as I am screaming down the Las Vegas Beltway at 75 mph. (Did I say 75? I meant 55 -- or no more than 45 in some sections.)

I have worn an ice cream bar all the way to Idaho. And I nearly tested the floating ability of my Ford Focus while simultaneously cruising past Walker Lake and attempting to rip open a package of beef jerky up in Mineral County two Thursdays ago.

Europeans evidently get out of the car to eat, as illustrated by the pitiful cup holders in our Volkswagen Passat. The hole doesn't fit a biggie anything. And if there's a cup in the holder, you can't mess with the radio because it is blocked by the cup.

What's that all about?

Madison's solution was changing jobs. OK, so she changed jobs for a whole list of other reasons. But her bank collector's job is a 10-minute drive from home. That's barely leaves time to down a Coke.

After all, she'll need 10 minutes just to set the A/C.