Here’s a subject that never gets old in conversation: Morons on the roadway.
I spent about 11 years in patrol before going to detectives, so I figured I averaged at least 125 miles each shift. So that, multiplied by — let’s say — 247 working days in the year, uh, minus about another 14 days of training — so let’s say 233 working days. Uh, okay, let’s subtract another five for sick — otherwise known as screw-off — days, so 228 working days times about 125 miles each. So that would be, uh, about 28,500 miles — or roughly the distance to the moon, uh, minus the 210,357 left over. Okay, never mind the moon (as if we actually went there anyway.)
What is with people at the stop light? We have successfully proved that you can take four rocket scientists and put them at a four-way stop and they become drooling twits. This has been proven over and over every time I reached a four-way at the same time the other three drivers did. I admit I have been the mayor of Twit-Land before.
I’m now concerned that we, the middle-class slobs, are overworked and that the only place to find a short nap is at the overly extended, unreasonably long, irritating and life-draining red lights of America! It’s bad enough that it takes me a day and a half to get to the QT to get my cherry-and-Coke fountain drink fix (ummm, I like them), thanks to the eleven-hundred traffic lights, but once the light miraculously turns green (for three seconds) the man or woman (yes, we’re all in this together) in front of me has suddenly gone into a coma. And as I watch the other, more fortunate drivers push forward and actually achieve the passing of the intersection under green, I’m behind the moron, who now is in some sort of deep trance.
I don’t reach for the horn — not out of courtesy, but because I have something better: an air-horn. They’re loud.
Fire trucks have them and they’re loud. I can hear fire trucks rolling out in Birmingham. They’re loud.
Okay, air horns aren’t really fair. They send a shrilling blast down your spine. And if you’re in that short nap that everyone seems to fall into — just ahead of me — it is a not-too-nice wakeup call.
Well, too bad, slackers! Wake up! This is why we have so much road rage! Wake up!
We’re pushed to the limit on arrival times and travel times. And, quite frankly, we don’t calculate well because we’re so optimistic that we’re in denial of the fact that surely we will hit traffic. Your 20-minute calculation is actually 40 minutes.
And stop trying to pretend you won’t get screwed in traffic! Accept it. We’ve had to accept really bad things before — like “Real Housewives of Atlanta” (yuk) — but as bad as that is, you need to utilize the time you actually have to move your car forward by not sleeping at the red lights.
Don’t fidget. Don’t go looking into that 35- pound purse,and stay off that dang Blackberry! It’s e-mail! Go to the office or home and read it there!
You’ve got to be ready! At any time you may come up on a four-way stop sign and, sure as Murphy’s Law exists, you’ll come up against three other rocket scientists having a bad day!