I figured since this was my blog, it would probably be pretty nifty if I kicked things off. In the spirit of this, I bring you my very first traffic story. One of which happened today, no less.
Please keep in mind that I will be posting my own traffic wrecks from time to time. I think it's only fitting that I be not a stranger to my own blog. Besides that, my blog may get lonely if I do not visit it from time to time with my own, true to life text. I wouldn't want to do that, because goodness only knows what wrath one might encounter from a scorned blog. I know that I, personally, do not wish to find out. Are we all on the same page here?
Great! (This is me assuming that we're all on the same page, but not giving you a choice at the very same time. For those of you who said I was not multi-talented it, I challenge you to take it back. You were wrong. Wrong I say! Muahaha!)
Before I even tell my story, I think that I must thank my mom for encouraging me to start a blog such as this. Also, she was the driver when this event I am about to tell occurred, so she is bound to appreciate it like it's going out of style. (See Mom, this is me encouraging you to appreciate the blog. Ooh, could this mean I'm triple talented?)
Okay, with all the casualties out of the way, I now present to you the very first blog about traffic and stupid drivers to ever be posted on this site. (Oh, gosh. It's all too much! I'm tearing up at the thought of christening this every so empty blog. *Wait for it* I'm over it now.)
Today I had a doctor's appointment about an hour away and in the city. Where I am currently living is a far cry from the city, but not so far out that you see the ever so random tumbleweed rolling down the road at a very leisurely pace. Sure, our roads are pretty skinny, windy and are close personal friends with potholes, but I like where I live. (At least that's what I tell myself anyway.) Although going into the city doesn't negate the potholes, it does add more traffic, as well as wider roads and more chances for stupid to occur.
The entire car ride up was plagued with drivers who were vastly unable to understand the concept that the gas peddle is on the right, the brake on the left. (I guess I can see where that would be confusing. Okay, I lie. I can't.) Either that, or they were mighty afraid of that car a good eighty feet in front of them. This did not change when it came to actually moving through a green light like they could tell the difference between red and green, and were not colorblind. Beyond that, I think the speed limit scared them so much that they did the opposite and retracted their speed, driving as slowly as they possibly could just to see if that really could get them pulled over and ticketed. This made for a very trying and elongated drive there.
And why should the drive home be any different, you ask? Well, my friends, I will have you know that other citizens of the weary world also happened to have this same question in mind. So much so that they made darn well sure that this "tradition," as I guess we shall call it, continued through most of the ride home, even though we chose to go home a different way in hopes of avoiding this.
In all fairness, we were also attempting to avoid the tunnels we have here, which were blown through a hill and allow access into the city. The thing with these certain tunnels is that you can always tell the difference between who is local, and who is not when you are driving through them. The locals slow down, so much so that you see turtles sliding past them for the win. While, on the other hand, out-of-towners actually know how to take a tunnel, so they do not reduce their speed, therefore, not holding up traffic. And no, I did not word that backwards. We are a city that is essentially afraid of our own tunnels. I'm pretty sure that takes talent.
This is neither here nor there, but I thought I would share it with you anyway. Aren't you glad I did? Doesn't it brighten your motorized world to know that somewhere in the hills of the grand old USA, there is a town that is so vehicular challenged that they are, in fact, afraid of their own tunnels? I bet you'll really think twice about just how bad your drivers actually are. (Don't worry about thinking past that, though, because I know that you, too, live in a town that is vehicular challenged in its own sad way. I feel your pain. Well, maybe not your exact pain, but the general concept of it; oh yeah, I feel it.)
Now, as we were cruising hungrily on our way home - on a quest to reach the nearest Burger King and scarf down some yummy food, while our stomachs internally told us about how rude it was to not have fed them for several hours - "bad driving" took on a whole new persona. So new that the person wasn't even driving. They were just sitting here.
How is this possible, you ask? What exactly happened, you ponder aimlessly, hoping that I'll stop being witty and get on with the story? Fine, be that way.
As we approached an impending red light, it was very clear to see that there was a car a few in front of us that was broken down in the middle of the road. This was clear for several reasons. One, the light had just turned green, and in return, cars were swerving out of their own lane and into another. Two, unless you went in the other lane, you were bound to enjoy sitting at a stand still until you ran out of gas. And last but not least, three, THERE WAS A CAR VERY OBVIOUSLY SITTING AT A FULL STAND STILL IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD, DRIVER'S HAND OUT THE WINDOW, WAVING FOR CARS TO GO AROUND HIM.
You would think this was a self explanatory concept. I mean, if you are driving that means you have a licence. To get a licence, you had to take a test. To take a test, you had to know how to read. And surely if you know how to read, you should be able to understand a simple hand signal brought to you by some poor guy whose hand was stuck as far out the window as it could go, waving wildly, while pointing you into the other lane. Apparently, the last sentence is a total misconception. A lie, if you will.
As all the cars were taking turns, one by one, the car in the front first, moving over into another lane, someone decided to test the boundaries of this concept. They were so crafty that they even decided to go ahead and do their own thing, because that seemed like a much better idea than just going around the guy like any person with half a brain would have done. Usually, I can appreciate a person who does their own thing. This was not one of those times.
Two in front of us, a red truck stops dead behind the broken down car. If that wasn't bad enough, the car behind him also stops dead. We were the next car back, so we decided to break their mold and go around the trio, because we were hungry, there was a Burger King in site, and oh yeah, WE WEREN'T STUPID! As we started around both cars, there was that brief moment of "Oh, how nice. These cars have stopped to help the guy who has broken down." What happened next made me lose my faith in the hope that there was at least one good driver left in Pennsylvania.
The guy in the red truck, a Tool, if you will, proceeded to start honking his horn incessantly at the poor guy who was broken down. This caused the guy who was broken down to wave his hand harder, almost to the point where I was worried it would fall off. And then, in a last ditch effort to help the Tool along, he yelled loudly out his window for the offending truck to go around him. It was so loud that we heard it with our windows up. The Tool in the red truck; not so much.
It was so pathetic that we couldn't deny that it was even a little funny. What made it a large amount of funny was that the guy behind the Tool in the red truck never went around the now double amount of stopped cars. He also sat there like a Tool, but he didn't honk his horn. He must have thought the Tool in the red truck was on to something, because he seemed none the wiser of what was going on. And being that the red truck and this particular car merged together from different directions in a hilarious act of fate, it was clear they were not together. What was unclear was which one was dumber and more oblivious to the vehicular world going on around them.
My mom and I continued to discuss just how amusingly pitiful the situation was as we pulled into the Burger King adjacent from the scene. We made our way through the drive-thru around the back of the building, got our food and popped back out from the yellow brick wall only to find that, you guessed it, Tool number one and Tool number two had not moved. This was a good five minutes later.
Neither had bothered to get out of their car. Tool number one was still honking, Tool two oblivious, and the poor broken down guy still waving his hand exhaustively, while yelling "GO AROUND."
Unfortunately, we had to bid the scene adieu, but seeing as this only happened around twelve hours ago, it's probably safe to say that Tool one and Tool two are probably still sitting there. Whether the broken down car has been moved or not, well, I have to figure that neither of the Tools would notice either way.
So how's that for starting off a blog about traffic blunders and general human stupidity? It was different than your normal "moron driver" story, with just the right amount of originality and tool-ness to drive the point home. Don't you think?
Now, come on everyone. Get involved. Send me you true traffic stories and let's get this blog going. I know you all have some pretty wild ones, so I am prepared to be amazed. To submit a story:
E-mail me at RubyTwilight@verizon.net
Make sure the subject reads "It's Traffic Time."
If you would like your name and/or a link back to your very own website included in the post, please state that in the e-mail.
If you would also be so kind, please include your state. I'm not asking for a city, area, county, etc. Just the state. It will make it easier for me to tag and organize the blogs as we go.
And remember, I claim no copyrights to any of your stories, but by sending them to me, you are giving me permission to post them on the site, as well as use them to promote the sight. Because if no one's coming to the site, no one is reading your story anyway.
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