Sitting in traffic in an allegory for life. One minute you’re cruising along, perhaps enjoying a tune you love and no one else likes, and the next you see a CONSTRUCTION AHEAD followed by LEFT LANE ENDS EXPECT DELAYS sign (these never have proper punctuation) indicating a grating experience is about to unfold.
These teeth-grinding episodes seem purposefully placed in our lives for no other reason than we must suffer equally. But that’s not always the case. We all ask rhetorical questions which straddle the present and the ethereal. How did you get here and why did it happen? Who knows?
We’re not good at ‘zippering’ in this country. I’ve seen it done effectively, but not often. At least in Europe (except England) the big rigs are required to stay in the far right (left) lane so other motorists can suffer in a single file line. Without a warning sign, say in the case of a wreck, we all crane our necks to see what’s going on ahead. So, too, do we try in life. We all want to know, even the type B’s who’d rather wait patiently.
Traffic is an ‘is’ that must be endured. How you deal with it is an individual choice, but it isn’t without outside influences. As with life, the common factor in any situation is humans. I especially detest traffic jams, whether caused by construction, wrecks, or any other malady, it doesn’t matter. And now I’m in one.
Traffic jams bring out people’s true nature and I look around at my fellow travelers, though none of us are going anywhere at present.
People let others in.
People shut others out.
People cut people off.
People are clueless.
People are impatient.
People are angry.
People are kind.
Someone takes matters into their own hands to block off those who’d try to use the shoulder or maneuver past construction cones to attain their best position to merge as close to the end of the snarl as possible. Getting ahead at the expense of others. How humanly greedy. I can only hope the honking and not-so-nice gestures lead to a Tik-Tok or Instagram rant and not gunfire.
Some people are better fueled with patience to deal with traffic and its attendant frustrations. I envy them since I am not so equipped. I inhale deeply and think about what’s important. At least I’m not in a wreck. At least I don’t have to work on the side of the road on a hot day. At least I can write about it.
Sitting in traffic, the sun sears my skin through the windshield like an ant under a magnifying glass. I fiddle with my phone. I look at a text from a writer friend who’s agreed to endorse my novel. He has nice words to say about it and writes that he enjoyed the read. That’s a bright spot in this exhaust-choked hell in which I sit. I text him a quick reply. Technically, I’m not texting while driving.
I check my email to find a message from a prolific and successful author denying my request for an endorsement. He’s too busy, doesn’t read fiction, any other excuse. He hopes it does well, however, and wishes me the best. A gentle ‘fuck you’. I sigh. The guy is/was one of my heroes. He’s still a great writer, even if I feel rebuffed. He’s the last of the famous people I know.
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Looking up from my phone, I find the traffic has inched forward and my inattentiveness created a car-length gap which another driver slips into after driving as far up the closing left lane as she can. Well, not really.
I drive a small sedan with ever-present warning lights illuminating the dash because of a faulty switch. She’s in an Escalade which means I must wait for her battleship-sized, four-wheeled barge to fully merge. Probably a harried young mother who’s late for picking up her kids after a busy morning at Pilates and a quick lunch. Or she’s just rude since she doesn’t wave in gratitude.
Either way, we are all now in a single lane and creeping forward. The lane was shut down because new lanes are being added to alleviate traffic congestion that wasn’t planned for when the roads were new fifty years ago. Gone are the trees and foliage, replaced by concrete and Jersey barriers (boy, do I wish I’d invented those) so people can get to the beach.
This jam, like all traffic jams eventually ends. The woman in the Escalade punches forward as soon as she is free of the constriction, weaving her way through the emerging traffic, angry at everyone else on the road who is obviously an idiot, each of us back on our individual paths.
Such is life. Difficult and frustrating, then moving along after a traffic jam.
Until the next one.
