But commuting up to four hours a day on congested Bay Area roads has turned me into an unearthly abomination not unlike the Creature From the Black Lagoon. Thinking of moving to California? Consider Idaho, please. Or Utah. Both are lovely this time of year, plus they have plenty of water to boot. Flush all you want!
Because crammed California roads don't have room for even one more Prius or Google Bus. And years of navigating an auto maze of millions has morphed me from that friendly neighborhood lady who walks her greyhound and pats children on the head into a growling, snarling she-beast with the patience of a Tasmanian Devil about to devour her young. I've stopped counting the number of expletives I mutter to myself during my 90-minute drive every morning. Who knew I had such a potty mouth?
My fellow road warriors are responsible for this frightening transformation. And you know who you are.
A typical day starts with the dude in the Ford pickup who tailgates me with his brights on because I'm not going fast enough to please this self-proclaimed King of the Road. Never mind that we're on a winding, single lane with no shoulder, it's 6:00 in the morning, still pitch black, and so foggy that visibility is just a couple yards beyond my headlights. I'm already going 65 in a 45mph zone, but apparently Mario Andretti wants me to go fasterfasterfaster. He lets me know of his need for speed by riding my bumper and blinding me with the glare of his halogen lights in my rear-view mirror.
Expletive #1.
Then there's the Fast and the Furious wannabe who weaves in and out of traffic, left-right-left-right, in-out-in-out, never using a signal, mind you. Let the others maintain the rate of speed, thinks this Vin Diesel dolt who usually leaves a string of fender-benders in his wake. Unlike the rest of us, he's got places to go, people to see. We're crawling at a snail's pace because, well, it's just so gosh darn relaxing. Plus, I can't hear enough of those sincere, "We'll give you ten thousand dollars right now because we trust you!" radio commercials.
Expletive #2.
But I haven't experienced my true auto-aneurysm until I reach that one dreaded light on the corner of Jackson and Mission: You know the kind I'm talking about; the light that stays green for seven seconds and red for seven minutes. I'm waiting, waiting, waiting, and then glory be! The light turns green and I praise God and Allah and Buddha and every other heavenly superhero I can think of, and prepare to take my foot off the brake except....
The driver in front of me has her head down in a position that can only mean one of two things: either she's dozed off during the long red or --and I'm taking a wild guess here--she's texting a really important message to her BFF such as, "OMG, and ever since she pierced it she has to tinkle in two...."
HOOOOOONK! I lay on the horn and she looks up with a surprised jolt that says, "OMG, I'm in a car!" and toodles through the light, which is now yellow. And I'm stuck at the red.
Expletive #3, #4, #5 and #6. And it's only 7am.
But the plus side of commuting is that it leaves me plenty of time to think. And I hear that Idaho and Utah are lovely this time of year.
1 comment:
Oh I can relate. Took my Memory Lane Tour to the south bay last week. Amazing how fast I got back into aggressive driving. Going back next week because I didn't buy enough pizza from the only pizza place I like. Taking the sedan instead of the van, not taking the dogs so I can drive faster. Glad to see your blog since you haven't been in the Chron for awhile.
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