Above all else, I think I hate traffic the most. I know, I know… no one likes it. There isn’t a soul out there saying, “Hey, let’s leave for the shore around 5 so we can hit the most traffic as possible! I’ve got a killer mix CD we just have to listen to before we get there tonight!”
So yeah, it obviously sucks. But, if I can make a claim like this, I think I hate it even more than most. I don’t know how to quantify that, so you’ll just have to take my word.
Honestly, I’m not sure what else to say in this space. It’s just a feeling of total relief. Complete, utter and fulfilling relief. You had been cruising along, singing loudly to some song you wouldn’t ever sing in anything under 70 mph. Suddenly, you see that sea of red lights ahead of you and you slam on the break, cursing the very existence of every other human on Earth that had the fucking nerve to be on the same road as you at this time.
The next move has variations but the intent is the same: let’s find out how long this is gonna be. Some people opt for the radio, others the web. Depending on my mood and how many lanes we’re talking, I may even do the ever-so-ridiculous drive slightly on to the shoulder so I can see how far the traffic stretches move.
Either way, you almost uniformly are given no answer that would satisfy.
Until, of course, traffic moves.
You can turn your music back on, lower the windows and put on your sunglasses once more. You’re moving.
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Running in to traffic again.