06 January 2012


I think about traffic quite a bit. If I spend an hour and a half in the car a day on average five days a week, that's just over sixteen full days a year. That's almost 50 work days, if my job was sitting in the car.

Over the course of a lifetime, all of those days add up to an exciting second life as a professional car driver - a job done not for something so base as money but for the satisfaction of the task accomplish'd.

When I'm at this second job - the one where I sit in a car in traffic until it's time to go home - I try to solve a lot of the problems I see with the other drivers on the road.

As a general rule I try not to earnestly wish death on anyone as a solution. If I found out that I had some kind of Firestarter-style pyrokinesis or a less specific Carrie brand of telekinesis and effected someone's death through the sheer power of thought, I'd feel a little guilty. I have no problems at all, however, with wishing ill on people.

Tricky Drivers

So if I see someone cutting through traffic like a total dick, I try to send some evil eye shit their way so their crops turn or they get a speeding ticket or something. Or like, a fender-bender. Nothing serious, but just enough to make them wonder whether or not they should pay for the repairs or keep the insurance check. Usually they're weaving in and out of the lanes too masterfully for my curse to catch up with them but occasionally I'll luck out.

Truck Balls

Absolutely not. I guess the path was blazed by sexy chrome lady silhouettes but I can't really reconcile the existence of these. The worst part is that I don't even have a trailer hitch on my car. I bought a few pairs to wear on a cord like a war-trophy necklace but the looks I got weren't worth the tremendous sense of power and virility I felt while wearing it. At any rate, I immediately assume that the person to whom...

the person whose...

the person to whose truck these are attached is an irredeemable fuckface. If I knew how to weld I would make an expand-o-bolt cutter castration attachment for the front of my car to remove and collect these.  Imagine the fertility talisman I could wield then!

Sexy Chrome Ladies

If it's on a semi, they get a pass. At the very least it's a birthright for all professional truck drivers and really I'm not sure if they even make 18-wheelers that don't include silhouettes of chesty chrome ladies. When used on other cars, it can go one of two ways. If this person is driving their car like a human and clearly interested in making it to their destination in a reasonable fashion, then maybe it's some kind of ironic statement on something something. Pass. Maybe it's not ironic at all; they really like sexy chrome ladies and they want the world to know. Also pass.

But if, for example, the car with the sexy chrome ladies in front of me cuts into the carpool lane like a total asshole then those stickers might as well be hobo graffiti for "total asshole." They should have one of the stickers (they're always in pairs) symbolically scraped off, like cutting off a knight's spurs. Then their land goes back to the archduke and they're forced to roam the countryside disgraced, poaching pheasants and robbing traveling merchants.


Not actual blind drivers, of course. If they're any bit as good as Al Pacino in Scent of a Woman then I don't think there's anything to worry about. I'm talking more about the willful blindness of someone who will not meet your gaze and will not let you merge. Rather than participate in the socialist/egalitarian spirit of driving in traffic they decide to put their own selfish goals ahead of those of the collective. They won't let you in, no matter how intensely you glare at the back of their head. This in turn forces you to commit evil to the drivers around you; they pay it forward and the freeway soon flows with rancor and spite like the sewers full of pink slime in Ghostbusters II. Handling it Greek-style (knitting needles in the eyes, sharp stick in the eye) would only make things worse. I think keeping a sack of gravel in the passenger side foot-well to throw at cars who won't let you merge is a cost-effective and elegant solution. Unless it scares the hell out of them and they slam on their brakes. Be prepared to throw a lot more gravel while evading capture if that happens.

Not My Fault

If I keep watching the Star Wars trilogy (yeah, I said it) I will eventually learn Force Push and possibly several other useful powers. When that day comes I should be able to cut my commute in half but in the meantime, I'm content to bitch about how everyone who drives is a suck except for me.

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