The Detoured Commute…

It’s not every day that I make commentary on my commute. Now that I think about it, I’m don’t think I have ever written about it. Probably because it’s boring and I zone out through most of it and has nothing to do with me checking my Facebook, texting or taking selfies.

Nope, nothing to do with that at all. That’s dangerous. You shouldn’t do it.

Anywho… today seems to be the day I join the huddled masses in complaining about my commute, because this morning, all those years of the most absolutely boring drive ever, I believe the lords of the traffic lanes decided to conspire together and create for me the calamity that I got to experience today.

To start, let me just say, I am in one piece and my truck is fine (All hail the truck!). I put that out there for anyone who did not realize that because you are reading this, that I wrote this, and writing post-mortem is kind of a trick I don’t think most of us have learned. Yeah, unless of course I’m lying, which I’m not… but how do you know? (insert spooky eerie noise here).

So, here is my day with a few minutes prior to getting into my truck compressed into however many words this turns out to be. I woke up (most important part of starting your day, just saying). Got ready for work (didn’t shave, shaving is for quitters), made myself a green smoothie (cause, you know, I want to die healthy), and packed myself a few munchie bits for this afternoon (blueberries and a meal shake before my Spanish final today). Pretty happy with myself and the world, I grabbed my gear and mounted up to head into work.

Ok, I realize that saying ‘mounted up’ when expressing ‘getting into my truck’ might make some of you have outbursts of juvenile splendor (or are now having it because I just explained it and you didn’t get it the first time), but seriously.. grow up. Ok, I’m laughing about it too…

Focus.. focus…right.

So, I start my commute and follow the normal route I drive which, in all, takes me all of about 25 minutes to get to work, with a plus or minus of about 5 minutes as I stop for my morning coffee at Dunkin Donuts (the greatest coffee there is, I might add). I haven’t gone a half-mile when I run into my first road block. No literally, the road was blocked. I knew the road work was coming, but they never really told us where it would be affecting. So, I’m like, no big deal, I’ll go the other route that takes me to the same back road that cuts off most of the traffic I would have to face.

A quick zip through the neighborhood (not really quick, got to be safe for those kids who walk the roads), and I head toward the second egress position from my little slice of suburbia. And… it’s blocked. This is the point that frustration plants its little side inside of me, and I can feel it worming its way down into my Happy. But, I take a deep breath, pop a three-point u-turn, and head back, thinking, I’ll just go another way to that road.

“But what if they have that road blocked off?”, “You don’t think they would do that?”, “Why not?”, “It’d be my luck.”, “Might as well head to US1.”, “KHAANNNNNNNNN!!!!!!!!!!”

So, that conversation happened in my head. Don’t judge.

Resigning myself to have to drive on US1 longer than I wanted too, I make the turns and head in that direction. My frustration level is kicked up a bit, so when I get to the light and there is this person who is trying to merge into my lane, I just do the whole, “Oh, I didn’t see you there.” cutoff thing that is so not me when I drive. Then I start feeling bad for being a jerk. Besides, being a jerk is kind of my brother’s thing (seriously, it’s even in his gamertag for Xbox).

Now, frustrated and mad at myself, I take a deep breath and start my trek on US1. For those who don’t have the joy of driving on US1, in South Florida, in the summer time, let me just try to summarize the experience as succinctly as I can.

It’s HELL.

On one side I have snowbirds that are either driving way too slow (no, the speed limit is 45, that’s a 4, not a 2…) or they are reliving their younger days driving 95 (no, 95 is the interstate number, not the speed limit). On the other side, I have 20 somethings that are in such a hurry to get on with their lives it blends over into their driving. These are the kids who think that US1 is Talladega or Monte Carlo. And, yes, I may be that side of 40 and drive like a grandma (the first ones I described), but come on people, it’s a 2000 pound weapon you are driving and this isn’t a demolition derby.

And… rant over. I start driving US1, and the traffic is already slow, creeping along around 30 miles an hour, and although I don’t speed, I like to do the speed limit at least. And then I see it. The two cop cars flashing blue in the median. They are the source of the slowdown that is backed up at least half a mile away from where they are. I’m thinking, great, it’s some accident, this is just… yeah. I creep forward, take a quick glance at what has caused the flow of traffic to cease, and what do I see? Two cop cars and a stalled out car. No accident. No injuries. Nothing to qualify the rubbernecking of the morons in front of me (can you tell my frustration was getting higher?).

Passed that, I get back to the normal flow of traffic. Uneventful, thankfully, until I start pulling into my Dunkin to get my coffee. Now, I drive a 2004 Ford F-150. It’s black. It’s not small. So, when this little Audi, sitting in the turn lane opposite the entrance I was turning into, can’t wait for a safe time to cross and starts to creep across the three lanes to avoid getting caught by the traffic behind me, all I can see is my truck eating his car for dinner. And I think to myself, “Self, if you just tap the brakes, that idiot is going to either get smashed by oncoming traffic, or he is going to put another smudge mark on my bumper. Either or… it would be his fault. But, I’m a nice guy, and I just continue on.

I get my coffee, head back to my truck and make my final 2 mile trek to work, hoping this cacophony of moronic actions has come to a close. How wrong I was.

I start driving down the three lane road and there is a semi in front of me who gets into the left lane from the middle. Or rather, I should say, he gets mostly into the left lane. Now, I have to get into the left lane shortly, because, well, I turn left in about another mile, so, I speed up, go from the right lane to the middle lane, right next to this semi who doesn’t seem to care that he is riding the right lane line. So, stuffing my “don’t speed” law (like I always do when passing semi’s, am I right?), I speed up to get past him, trying to keep an eye on him as I do because, unlike the Audi before, this dude will hurt my Precious (Golem, Golem…).

Wouldn’t you know it, just as I am almost past him, here he comes, lumbering at 40 miles an hour right into my lane at the back-end of my truck. Luckily, the guy in the right lane was far enough back that I could swerve out and avoid being Pitt maneuvered by this roadhog. Heart racing, frustration mounting (there’s that word again), I just kept my foot down, and made the turn signal light just in time.

Thankfully, the next half mile was uneventful and I pulled into the parking lot at work, and took a deep breath.

Lets hope that the trip to work is the worst part of my day.

Especially considering I have a final tonight.


5 thoughts on “The Detoured Commute…

  1. So, you and the truck are okay? I’ve driven in Florida… learned to drive there actually (up in Jacksonville)… next to Hampton Roads, Virginia, it’s one of the worst places I’ve ever had the pleasures of driving.

    Liked by 1 person

          1. I know you were. 😛 So was my first husband (hence, living in Jacksonville and Hampton Roads, VA). I grew up a Navy Brat. I say it with impudence.

            Liked by 1 person

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