'Tis the Season
My knuckles will be white and my jaw clenched as I look out over the endless sea of their minivans and SUVs. As far as the eye can see, they will be easy to spot by the luggage carriers strapped to their roofs.
Instinctively I will know that I must relax. I will practice deep breathing exercises - in through the nose, out through the mouth. I will get to know every inch of the vehicles that entrap me. I will memorize their bumper stickers, their magnetic ribbons of support and their license plate holders. I will play my own little version of "spot-the-out-of-state-plates" while trying to figure out what their obscure personalized tags mean. I will even watch parts of the movies they are playing to keep their kids from killing each other.
I will exchange knowing grimaces with other locals as we watch them dangerously weave in and out trying to find the "faster" lane. We will nod at each other because we know that there IS no "faster lane" this time of year.
Like locusts and other scourges, this fleet of mini-vans and SUVs plague us every year at this time. I, and my fellow locals, will get to know their vehicles intimately because for the next HOUR OR MORE we will all be CRAWLING towards the tunnel together. And as always, I will resist the urge to scream out my window,
"IT'S A FARGIN TUNNEL YOU MORONS! MAINTAIN THE POSTED SPEED!"
(NOTE: The post above was scrawled on pieces of a ripped up Happy Meal bag as I "drove" home from work the other day. It took me an HOUR and 50 MINUTES to make the 36 mile trip. I love tourist season. Really.)
Instinctively I will know that I must relax. I will practice deep breathing exercises - in through the nose, out through the mouth. I will get to know every inch of the vehicles that entrap me. I will memorize their bumper stickers, their magnetic ribbons of support and their license plate holders. I will play my own little version of "spot-the-out-of-state-plates" while trying to figure out what their obscure personalized tags mean. I will even watch parts of the movies they are playing to keep their kids from killing each other.
I will exchange knowing grimaces with other locals as we watch them dangerously weave in and out trying to find the "faster" lane. We will nod at each other because we know that there IS no "faster lane" this time of year.
Like locusts and other scourges, this fleet of mini-vans and SUVs plague us every year at this time. I, and my fellow locals, will get to know their vehicles intimately because for the next HOUR OR MORE we will all be CRAWLING towards the tunnel together. And as always, I will resist the urge to scream out my window,
"IT'S A FARGIN TUNNEL YOU MORONS! MAINTAIN THE POSTED SPEED!"
(NOTE: The post above was scrawled on pieces of a ripped up Happy Meal bag as I "drove" home from work the other day. It took me an HOUR and 50 MINUTES to make the 36 mile trip. I love tourist season. Really.)
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