(Note: This contains both the original #60 and the original #103, which were the exact same feeling. But, I enjoyed the way I separately wrote both, so I’ll let you choose which you like best)
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.
Almost every single time I’m stuck in traffic, I react as if there’s an actual situation wherein traffic wouldn’t bother me.
Meaning: I freak out, either internally or externally, as if this single time I absolutely can’t afford to be stuck in this traffic. Other times, sure, wouldn’t bother me. But THIS time… NO FUCKING WAY CAN I BE STUCK HERE!
Of course, those “other times” don’t exist. I irrationally react to and hate traffic each and every goddamned time like it’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.
Among the things that I’ve been known to do: punch my steering wheel, put my windows up and curse at myself and the situation, turn off my music in spiteful protest, put my car in park, act like an asshole to a girlfriend in the car with me, generally frighten any passengers I may have with me.
So you could imagine the complete and total ecstasy I experience when, at least, the sea of red lights abates and we can finally begin moving. Music can resume, fun and normal human decency are restored.
That is until…
Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: This happens.