So today was my first day back at work after a ten day break. And as expected, it got off to a spectacularly shit start when I got stuck in the worse than usual gridlock traffic on the freeway. On a good day, and by good day, I mean the middle of the fucking night when everyone else is already home and in bed, my journey from home to work would take between 20-30 minutes. This is largely dependent on how much I’m willing to risk a speeding ticket to save those extra 10 minutes (frequently for the record). On a bad day, say like every fucking day I commute, this can take anywhere from 45-60 minutes.
Except for today. Because today, it took a grand total of 90 fucking minutes for me to get from home to work.
Now I know that like me, there was a heap of other people all returning to work today, which only added to the shitastic traffic. However, in a deliberate move on my part, I decided to start my commute in a little later than normal. Smart move right? Avoid the first day back traffic and therefore severely reduce the chances of unleashing my homicidal rage on either my fellow commuters or my colleagues at work. Well in theory yes, but really, it was my first day back at work, of course I wasn’t getting up at the ass crack of dawn, to rush in to a job that regularly sends me to the liquor store on the way home. I wasn’t about to shock myself into a heart attack, although in hindsight, that would have been a great excuse to stay home.
Instead, my alarm went off a good hour after it normally would on a work day and after a luxurious breakfast in bed, I took a shower, straightened my hair and made a coffee for the commute (thank fuck). And as I reversed my car out of the garage, I congratulated myself on a well thought out plan. After all, going back to work after a ten-day break, hell, after the fucking weekend, is never easy, but at least my drive in today wouldn’t suck too much. Oh fuck me, was I wrong about that.
Because, as I finally reached the freeway entrance, which essentially forms the bulk of my commute into the city, I pretty much ground to a halt. Not only was the traffic fucked, it was beyond fucked. I mean, worse than a normal commute day in, fucked. I’m pretty sure all the cars were stationary and the entire three-lane freeway resembled the parking lot at my local Target. Fuck me, this was not going to be good.
But what choice did I have? Short of saying fuck it and executing an Austin Powers style 20-point turn and driving the wrong way back up the freeway ramp to go home, I had no choice but to continue. And continue I did…for a solid 45 minutes, essentially driving what probably equates to two miles in that time.
Now I know there are often reasons for slow/grid-lock/completely fucked traffic, and as I would soon, or rather, an hour later, discover, today was no exception. And you can imagine my delight when I came upon said reason, only to discover it was an “incident response” van, pulled over on the side of the road with some pretty flashing lights on its roof.
Yep, that’s fucking it. No accident, no alien invasion, nothing.
And look, in some ways I can understand. Pretty shiny things distract me too. But let’s get real, these are normally expensive, come in tiny little boxes and hang from my ears, wrists or neck. They aren’t the type that weigh a ton and sit on the side of the road doing sweet fuck all. Seriously people, you’re fucking slowing down for that??
Naturally a few F bombs fell from my mouth as I finally drove past these pointless flashing lights and all the fuckwits watching it, and actually managed to get my car out of first gear. This maneuverer also allowed me to finally overtake the fuckwit in front of me who’d felt the need to let every fucking car that wanted change lanes in in front of her. A good 90 minutes after leaving home, coffee long gone, I walked back into work only to discover that yes, it takes approximately 30 seconds to feel as though you never left it in the first place.
Fuck me.
PM1
