Feature
by Laura Wutzke
Pretend you can't hear the girl smacking her strawberry-flavored gum in the car next to you.
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How to drive in rush-hour traffic
Sometimes, the best highway manuevering starts with a paitent heart. -Shawn McAniff, photo
The day: Friday. The time: 5:07. The place: an average American city, an average freeway, two yellow lines, two white. And you? In the middle of it all.
Follow these tips and you'll drive down the nearest freeway with ease. At the very least, you'll be able to remove the gun rack from the back of your Volkswagon Golf.
First check your left lane.
If you don't see any cars, you're not in a city, and you're not on a freeway. A herd of sheep on the left shoulder doesn't count as traffic.
Why don't you turn to the sports page? Who won the bovine competition at the county fair?
Turn on your left blinker.
Maybe a considerate motorist will take the hint and let you in. Maybe not. Isn't "considerate motorist" an oxymoron?
Stick the nose of your car into the rear bumper of the car in the left lane.
Ignore the honking from behind you. Don't look in your rear view mirror. Never look in your rear view mirror. You won't like what you see. Ever.
Get mad.
The traffic will come to a complete standstill in the lane you've just entered. Turn on your right blinker to exit the lane. Glare at drivers in the right lane as they whisk by you.
Swear to yourself that you will someday find that white Mazda with the little girl who stuck her tongue out at you as she passed.
You will remember the bumper sticker, "Proud parents of a Jefferson Honor Student."
Get back into the middle lane.
Sigh with relief. Wave cattily at the motorists in the left lane as you speed past them. Hum you and your first boyfriend's "song."
Make fun of the middle-aged man in the Geo Metro without air conditioning.
His comb over doesn't look quite as attractive when his sweat glands are overreacting.
Brake.
Closely follow the car in front of you. Brake then accelerate. Brake then accelerate. Seriously consider buying a padded shoulder strap for your seat belt. Pull back and follow from a distance. Watch an unmarked white Chevy van pull out in front of you. Promise to join an antigovernment militia when you get home.
Turn on the radio.
Listen to your favorite station for exactly four seconds. Then listen to a long list of voting requirements in the state of Louisiana. Change the station. Change the station again. Resolve that you will finally decide to appreciate Latin music. Try to understand the Spanish-speaking disc jockey based on your six months of Spanish in high school. No comprende.
Turn off the ratio station.
Stub your finger on the dial button.
Sing to yourself.
Start with Disney songs. Slowly digress to famous pop songs. Then rock songs. Then heavy metal. Then Gothic and finally Frank Sinatra.
Hit your head on the steering wheel.
Pretend you can't hear the girl smacking her strawberry-flavored gum in the car next to you.
Brake.
Avoid yelling at the motorist in front of you by biting your lip. Mop at your bloody lips with a dirty fast food napkin in your jockey box.
See a fish on a license plate. Pray.
Pray for the girl with the strawberry gum and the guy in the Metro. But most important, pray for yourself and your attitude.
Smile.
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