Today’s entry will be a mini (or more relevantly, a mondeo) rant.
I have been massively frustrated since xmas at the ridiculous levels of traffic on the roads. Did everyone get a new car for xmas or something??
It seems that leaving of a morning at our usual time is no longer good enough, and I don’t think I’ve been on time for work this year. Naturally, being of such seniority and immense import that no-one dare question this is handy!! The main reason for the morning time delays are Emily and Rebecca, who just won’t get up. No strike that, Rebecca will get up, but then spends just five precious minutes too many on preening, straightening, foundationing and all round beautifying.
So after soaking Emily with cold water, physically dragging her from her bed, and playing music at full volume, we always leave just those few minutes too late to avoid the stomach wrenching stress of not quite being able to arrive on time. What do you mean you don’t get that feeling? Are you trying to suggest that I am in some way wired a little tightly in that area? As if.
The return home has been even worse!! I can see no reason for these hold ups. If I am to sit in traffic for any length of time, I expect at least some crumpled metal and a few severed limbs to gawp at as I rubber neck my way past said obstacle. Alas, no. It just seems to be sheer volume.
Then, as I leave the towny bits, and wind my way through the country bits of my journey home, I seem to be held up by driver after driver who think that human beings suffocate over 20mph. If you seen the film, The Truman Show, you may know the scene when he is trying to escape the “set” and car after car suddenly appears in front of him, thwarting his progress. Whether you know the film or not, this is what happens to me, I am convinced.
I know I should be calm in heavy traffic as I can do little about it, and getting stressed won’t help any. However I have scientific proof that driving two inches from the bumper in front, visibly shaking my head in disgust, drumming my fingers on the steering wheel and throwing my hands up in disbelief at every half competent manouevre makes all the difference. Well, it makes me feel better anyway.
So, if you are ever in front of a bright red Mondeo, with a balding, strangely attractive, yet stressed to hell bloke behind the wheel, spare a thought for my ever growing ulcer and either put your foot down or get out of my way!!
Till the next time…..
2 thoughts on “Why is it called rush hour, when you do everything but….”
~ no, you’ve got it wrong there. (can see you’re quoting america’s beloved mantra). S’actually, “put your g@damn foot down, or get the f. outta my way). Can trust me, i wrote it. Am one of those dis. goers who’s there *before* ‘cast members’ even get outta bed. would pay cold hard cash to see performance of your tutting sessions. oily continental airport metrozexuals, tower of terror tarts, or anyone on miserable brit. h-ways…actually, beavis/buthead smoothie arses, rental car phone wankers. what a delicious list- Schadenenfruede! s’moral failing, but your fault for being g.d. funny, so am not to blame, still gonna be saved. But whilst laffing, am M. Theresa sort so still feel ur commute’s unfortunate cack. 😦
~What if you drive into ‘the wall’ one of these mornings tho! Find out we’re all actually *in* giant Magic Kingdom. You’re set was created to cause you to properly appreciate Florida trips. Wonder if you’d be too damn happy ’bout it to be bitter haha.
If only you could harness your anger to feul your car. I agree that its cheating when you sit in a queue and are denied the joy of some hot car on lamp-post action, not I want death and carnage….just some demolition to justify losing vital moments I could have spent sitting at my desk calculating how long my multi-pack of quavers will last