I hate driving. This feeling has only been exacerbated by the awful winter we've had, followed by the stadium-sized potholes that pepper every local roadway in this berg. Rides across town with my husband are accompanied by his warnings of "watch out, that's a big one" and "be careful here," followed by a general grousing about poorly constructed roadways. We noticed on a recent trip to New Jersey that, in spite of the lousy weather they've also had, their streets were in much better condition than ours.
 |
| The name of the road should be "Minefield, not "Chatfield." |
I do all I can to help ease the stress of my commute to work, which takes about 40 minutes (in good weather and traffic). About six months ago I obtained an "Easy Pass" for use on the turnpike. It has been a godsend. No longer do I need to wait in line behind clueless travelers, trying to pay their toll with $50 bills. Now I sail right by the tollgate, confident that my credit card will be duly charged. It's money well-spent.
I listen to a lot of audio books to pass the time. And it does help, although there have been days when I've been compelled to sit in my car and listen to the end of a chapter. I can't tell you the number of times when I've pulled into the parking lot, and the hero of our story was about to be bludgeoned by some Dick Dastardly type, and I just couldn't wait to find out what happened next.
On the weekends, my husband and I wrangle for who has to drive. He's not any more enthusiastic about it than I am. He usually winds up yelling at the other drivers for tailgating, sailing through a stop sign, or cutting us off ("they KNOW the lane ends there and they just HAVE to get in front of me").
There's no doubt that driving brings out the worst side of people's natures. Road rage has become so common, I find that I'd rather sit back and let someone cut me off, quietly curse them, and move on with my life, rather than flipping them off. It's just not worth it. I don't want to get shot or run off the road because some a-hole is in a hurry to get to the 7-11. One of Mr. G's favorite quips is, "America's the greatest country in the world, my ass." I always say that the country's okay, but a lot of the people in it are suspect. Honestly, I think people are just people the world over. We're no better or worse than folks in any other country.
I worked with a guy who was from Israel, and he said when people there drove, they had rubber penises that they would shake at drivers who pissed them off. Looking back, I'm not sure if this was a common practice or just something that he did. He was always an angry driver.
All of this goes back to my original thought, that I'd love to have someone at my beck and call to drive me wherever I wanted to go. It wouldn't have to be in a Rolls Royce (although that would be okay with me). A Prius would be just fine. As long as I could put on my headphones, close my eyes, and listen to music or an audio book, I'm good with that.
Best of all, I could just tell him to drive around the block a few times if I wasn't quite finished with the chapter.
You see? My needs are simple. Now, all I have to do is win the lottery...
No comments:
Post a Comment