The Revolution Will Be... Delayed Due to Traffic

Most of the people I see look miserable. The old lady I passed yesterday on the sidewalk. The guy who waited on me at the grocery store. A vast majority of the heads turned downwards on the train.

Every day, I take the same route home. The commute sometimes goes unbelievably well. But most days, the 20 mile drive takes about 70-80 minutes... over two hours when things are really screwed up. I generally call friends (hands free) to pass the time, but for the most part I sit there in a daze. Some evenings, I can't really even recall the drive. I just know that it happens somewhere in-between the slamming of my car door post-work, and the routine of circling my block to find a parking space. But for that period in-between... for those 80 minutes where my hands are gripping the steering wheel... I'm just... there.

I manage to pay attention to the road without even realizing where I am. I hit the turn signal and turn left without thinking "this is where I turn." It all just... happens... and through the misery and sweat of a 90F commute in an un-air conditioned car, the only clear thoughts I have are hopeful wishes for things that won't materialize until I force them to.

Exceptions to this are those moments when I break out of the daze to "see" things around me:

• Men holding up "Homeless Vet. Please Help." signs while limping through traffic
• The man reading the Bard in paperback in front of a gas station just before a very busy exit
• A business man stuffed into the trunk of a suspicious looking vehicle
• Toddlers "running" down the sidewalk without their parents in sight
• People in the cars next to me, yelling to no one with their windows rolled up (no doubt enjoying their air conditioning), gesturing to traffic
• At least 3-4 vehicles daily who speed along the shoulder while the rest of us wait patiently

And, yes, I've seen countless fingers shoved up unwitting noses while I pass by, as amused as I am disgusted.

It goes without saying that I'm a bit of a people watcher. I do this at malls, at parks, at bars... during the angst-ridden commute that bookends my day.

And I repeat again: most of the people I see look miserable.

This realization is as much an insult directed towards me as it is my fellow commuters. My most humbling moments, for example, are those instances when I glance over and see another driver looking back at me, themselves observing the people around them. It's embarrassing when this happens... in part because awkward eye contact generally leads to nothing but humiliation; in part because I can't help but wonder what they were thinking about me before I turned to look at them.

• Windows down in 95F weather when traffic isn't moving? Her A/C must be broken.
• Man, she looks hot... and not in a good way.
• Milk. Toilet paper. Eggs. Ointment. Milk. Toilet paper. Eggs. Ointment. M; TP; E; O. M-T-P-E-O, M-T-P-E-O.... B-I-N-G-O, and BINGO was his name-o!

And so on.

Point is, I don't want to be one of those people I see. But somedays — when I catch a glimpse of myself in my rearview window — I have no choice but to admit the irrefutable connection.