Honk Honk Beep Beep – Life in a Traffic Jam

Lub Dub, Lub Dub, Lub Dub. My morning alarm builds to a crescendo and BOOM, I’m alive and kicking! I’m best left alone for your own safety.

It’s only on weekends that I “rise and shine.” During weekdays, the first on my ‘to do’ list is to have a cup of ‘positivi-tea’ that helps develop resilience and review strategies to face yet another harrowing traffic jam. I tell myself I’m not alone and it’s a universal problem.

A few handpicked dramatic narratives of my life in a traffic jam might spin you out of control. “Proceed with Caution.” Remember, if alone, you have no alibi and many witnesses to testify.

The first thing I do when I get into my car is play the Formula One Theme song, to gear-up for the start of my 2-hour endurance race to town. The starting point is the toll gate where the stakes are high. I’m racing other cars, buses, trucks, bikes, pedestrians, cattle, and stray dogs. A gentle push on the accelerator, engine roars, brakes screech, tyres squeal, cattle moo, and dogs bark. I press the ignition, hear a grinding noise, and Vrooooooooom!

Bigger challenges ahead where traffic signals never turn green.

At the first signal, we are bumper to bumper and I dared to smile, hoping to brighten someone’s day. Bad idea! The bikers remove their helmets, wipe their puckered brow, flushed faces turn red, and give me a menacing look. Did I come across as mocking and looking cool in my car while they are struggling in the scorching heat? I look away before I have a meltdown from flames rising from the smoking hot bikers.

My car feels like a nuclear reactor ready to explode. With humidity rising in the car, my hair gets frizzy and I’m crowned in curls. Here comes ‘Lion King’ in the jungle of traffic. I brush it aside and accept another ‘Bad Hair Day.’ Hakuna Matata!

I’m now sitting like a zombie, can hear nothing over the volume of my hair, nor can I see anything on either side with my natural curly blinkers. I decide to admire myself in the mirror. Yet another rude awakening. I pull out my hand mirror for a closer look and see fine hair mushrooming. Out comes my magnifying lens and tweezers to pluck what’s barely visible to the naked eye. Then, I run the comb on my face hoping to look brushed as I’m already bushed.

If that was not bad enough, I check my dentures next. I see cavities but no time to explore. Call my Dentist to vent and he says, “I’ll fill you in on the root problem when you get here.”

Now I’m breathing fire. With temperatures rising in and around me, the oxygen mask drops from the hood to muffle my screams and the window drapes roll down. I regain my composure, take a deep breath, and count to 10. Scared to let my guard down, I put on my face mask. Do you mind? I have my moments too. Then, plug in my earphones, blast the music and live life loud for a few minutes before I expose myself again.

How long am I stuck at the signal? I’m not sure either. I hear honking and bikers knocking on my window.

At the next signal, I pick up strands of my dog’s hair and when I run out of them, I pull loose threads of the seat upholstery. To shake off any dog hair on my clothes, and for some fresh air, I request the bikers on either side to check my tyres. I step out, circle the car, inspect my outfit and back in.

Now it’s time to engage in the usual; play sudoku, browse the internet, and make calls to long-lost family and friends. Most of them hang up saying, “wrong number.” I also take countless selfies to send my friends. I’m aware they block me between 7-9am but that doesn’t stop me. I practice my bubble gum blowing skills, floss my teeth, and break knuckles. When I’m done with the ‘to do’ list for the day, I push my seat back, and set my alarm for every 2 minutes just in case I doze off.

Another half hour gone and still stuck. I step out with my megaphone, walk a couple of cars ahead to spot the reason for this jam. I turn around, see ears propped up like little elves and everyone waiting with bated breath. I announce, there is “an udder confusion ahead.” Cows jumped off a truck so do not blow horns.

I’m now running late to work. It’s almost the end of the week and run out of all excuses. I’ve blamed the alarm clock, misplaced car keys, car breaks down and waiting for the mechanic, rushed a family member to the hospital, killed quite a few of my relatives and now can’t remember who they were. I’ve also been outrageously unbelievable by saying the cops stopped me for driving under the speed limit and also the struggle to get my pet octopus off my face.

The last meeting with my boss didn’t go well. “How are you?” he asked in a sarcastic tone. What was I thinking? I responded, “my therapist has asked me to not discuss my issues with anyone.” All fell silent. He stood up and said, “find other ways to navigate and if you ever attempt to take the highway, you may be runover and your end is in sight.”

I’m in deep trouble. I can’t take the day off because my Consulting Doctor refuses anymore leave letters. He says, “my road to recovery is therapy.” I’ve also tried convincing my Insurance Representative to incorporate grief therapy under Insurance for anxiety caused because of traffic jams and undue stress by employers.

Is this week over yet? I’m exhausted!