You ever get annoyed sitting in traffic?
For three years, I commuted 55 miles from my place in rural Berks County to the parking garage at 19th and JFK in center city Philly. This commute required the dreaded 422 corridor (there’s even a Facebook “fan” page) and the more sinister Schuylkill Expressway. Two “no way around” roads. If you’re going into and out of Philly from the northwest, you’ll need those roads.
The morning was fine, as long as I left by 5am. And there were no accidents. And it wasn’t raining or snowing. And an errant leaf didn’t blow by. I’d usually be sitting at my desk by 6:15.
But the evening commute was brutal. It was two hours of scratching and clawing for every inch of asphalt on those two “higwhays.” Stop and go. Move an inch. The guy on your right shoe-horning his bumper into the three inches of space between you and the guy in front. Horns, fists, other hand gestures. Just a mass of PO’d humanity. All of us sitting in this traffic, annoyed at everybody else who’s creating the traffic.
Here’s the thing, though — If you’re sitting in traffic, you are the traffic.
