It’s such an exercise in futility. As I look at the cars stuck on the other side of the freeway as well as the ones stuck on mine I often wonder that we don’t just call a meeting in an arena somewhere, network and trade jobs … or houses … and avoid the whole thing by all being ten minutes from work. This morning I sat at a dead stop on the freeway squinting into the sun, for what felt like an eternity, frustrated by the fabulous illusion that all the lanes but mine were moving. My baser, primal instincts began to surface and I experienced a brief but vivid kinship with cheetahs and lions and tigers (oh my) as I realized I was actually scouting the faster moving lane next to me like a predator looking for the weak zebra, ya’ know, the old one, the young one, the one with the lame leg, the one putting on their make up instead of paying attention to the road, the one reading the newspaper, the one that doesn’t know how to drive a stick ... so I could savagely cut them from the herd by ducking in front of them into their lane and leave them in my exhaust fumes. I finally spotted that zebra and zoomed in front of it with the speed of a cheetah (albeit a little green metal one) and as I sped past no less than 30 cars before zipping over and onto to the exit I felt the same rush of adrenalin a cheetah likely feels at the instant it sinks it’s teeth into prey and begins to chow down. At least the cheetah doesn't need to wait for his check so he can eat.
Just another day in the concrete jungle!
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