46 Thoughts That Consume You While You're Stuck In Traffic

Oh great, a traffic jam. On today of all days. I will lose my job if I'm late today.

Actually, I've been late so many times this month I think a lot of people there may think I've already lost my job. Like, there's only so many times you can get away with, "Showing up early for a half-day," before everyone assumes they just let my ass go.

I was amazed it worked once, to be honest.

God, we have the meeting with the client at 9 today, too. I won't lose my job, they will literally murder me in front of the client if I show up late. Like to appease them.

I'll be on the news!

Dammit, why is it slowing down here? It never slows down here. There must be an accident.

Or maybe someone's betrayed me.

No, it's probably an accident. My enemies don't like getting up this early either.

Man if it was an accident, someone had better have died to inconvenience me this much. Obviously I don't mean that, but ...

-checks over shoulders to ensure the car is empty-

... I do mean it. There needs to be a body count. I want today to be a national day of mourning. Today needs to be a calamity, a cautionary tale, an event vaguely referenced in multiple cultures' oral traditions for generations.

Ok, that might be a bit much.

That lane's moving faster. Let's get up in that.

Come on, let me in.

Let me in.

MOTHERFUCKER LET ME IN.

Ok, he let me in. I'll wave.

Ok now the other lane is faster. Of course it is. But I'm going to stick with this one. Normally this lane always gets faster by the off-ramp but is then slower by the on-ramp. This will work. I can feel it.

Still slower.

Still slower.

Ok, so it's backwards today, because of again, no doubt, my enemies.

Oh well that's better. Now we've all come to a stop. That's at least fair.

No. No. It's not fair. I'm the important one here. I should be going. People should be pulling over to make way for me. People should be driving into the ditch for me. Bus driver all yelling for everyone to try and keep their heads above water, me honking cheerily as I scoot by.

Is that? Is that that motherfucker? How did he get ahead of me? Is he a witch?

Is he on his phone?! I mean, I get that traffic's inching along, but still. That's not safe.

Hmmm ...

-idly strokes phone-

I should email work. Let them know I'm stuck in ... a hostage situation. I mean, I can't just tell everyone traffic was bad. "You should have left earlier then, this is important," they'll say. Before murdering me.

"I did leave early, traffic was that bad," I'll say, leaping into a defensive crouch.

Oh good, the motherfucker is off his phone. Good for ... is he eating oatmeal?

I should check the traffic report.

Music. Next station. Music -- next. Music -- next. Damn. Less rock, more talk please.

Ok, so it's not technically rock. Do people still listen to rock? Less ... electro influenced pop please, I guess.

Finally! Traffic! Ok. Ok. That's where I am. There is an accident! And people are slowing down to look! THOSE COLOSSAL FUCKERS. I am going to get murdered with a ceremonial halberd if I am any later.

You know, it's not actually people slowing down to look at accidents that's "causing" the traffic jam. It's people rightfully slowing down because of the flashing lights and firefighters or whatever just inches from their lane of traffic. Or they're slowing down because there was a lane blocked there ten minutes ago, and even though the lane's open again, the traffic wave is still there.

Still a lot more soothing when you can blame someone else, so I'll do that too. Damned rubber-neckers. I hope the oral traditions say some pretty mean things about you.

That motherfucker has already finished his oatmeal. I can't even be mad at him for that now. That's just smart. I want some oatmeal. That stuff is filling. Great foundation on which to build your day.

This is mentally exhausting. I wish this car drove itself.

I wish my job did itself.

If my job did itself they wouldn't pay me for it, would they? I take that back then.

Could they replace my job with a robot? What kind of robot makes jokes about dicks? A really rad one, I bet.

I bet my robot would be more popular than me, too. Fucking holding court by the tray of donuts, cracking off the finest array of Young Pope jokes, everyone forgetting my name just immediately.

Oooh, there's the accident. That guy got messed up. Now I feel bad. I won't look.

Ok, I won't even pretend that I'm not looking.

Is that ... the motherfucker? Did he travel forward in time? Was he killed and sent back to live forever in his own traffic jam like some kind of insane modern purgatory? That is rad as hell.

FINALLY we're moving again! Now we're cooking! If I make good time from here on in, I'll be ... murdered with a regular halberd.

Probably not.

Probably.

Still. Nothing can slow me down now. Except for my enemies, of course.

And me.

On that note I might just quickly find a place to get some oatmeal first.

Chris Bucholz is a Cracked columnist and frequently murdered with a variety of archaic weapons. As the author of the amazing novels, Freeze/Thaw and Severance he thinks you should definitely go buy both of those now. Join him on Facebook or Twitter.

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