Friends, in January of 2018, I did the best (and dumbest) thing I have ever done in my adult life. I suddenly quit my job without a plan. My job, like I’m sure many of yours are, was one that relied on performance through fear. Every couple of months, like clockwork, I would be called into a room, told the company wasn’t doing great, and that they needed more from me as a senior employee, and that if it came to it, I’d be the first to be let go due to my salary.
This is a job I spent three hours a day, in the car, commuting to/from. One that necessitated me working on weekends, being responsible for everyone else, and basically I couldn’t take it anymore, so I zigged instead of my normal zagging, and offered to resign the next day. So I did, and as a result — after a few weeks decompressing from that job, because it was a lot — I began working for myself. I could not be happier.
A beautiful byproduct of my new career path meant that my daily commute was the 10 seconds it took for me to roll out of bed and get to my work desk. No more 3-hour commutes, which were pure torture, especially because I live in LA and I swear that the traffic gets worse every year.
Now it’s been over a year since I went into business for myself, and since then I’ve picked up a client that I typically spend Wednesdays with because they’re great, I like them and why not? As a result, one day a week, I have to commute about 2 hours a day (45 mins in, an hour and 15 mins back) and f*ck me, Sartre was wrong. Hell is not other people, hell is other drivers. Two hours a week I am stuck at the whim and mercy of other people operating heavy machines that really, really shouldn’t—and as much as I’d love to list every single complaint I have (like the f*cking idiot this afternoon, who stopped in the middle of the onramp because he was enjoying the music he was playing and needed to air drum, I s*it you not) this post is in honor of the special breed of awful driver: The one that insists on going their own, much slower pace, to the detriment of traffic.
Please, please, please friend, I am begging you—if you’re on the freeway, and you’re going 30 when everyone else is going 60, you need to get off at the next exit and take surface streets because what you’re doing is the worst, and also, very dangerous.
Yes, I know you’re texting and somehow it makes it safer if you slow down in order to do it. We all know you’re texting because I guarantee you that every person you are slowing down who has the displeasure of being behind you makes a point to look at you as they drive by so that they know who is the worst person on their commute that day. It’s you.
There is another type of person, he’s usually a middle-aged white guy in a pickup truck, who likes to park in the fast lane and refuses to pull over to let you go ahead because in his infinite wisdom he’s decided you’re going too fast, and his speed is the acceptable fast lane speed.
Guy—you are not the arbiter of what’s too fast (the CHP is, at least in my state.) Get your a*s in the slower lane and let the person pass you. Come on, now. You’ll get your just deserts when the speed demon gets pulled over, but until then, f*cking move, man!
I had some time to think about it today (an hour and 20 minutes to be exact because that’s how long it took me to drive 15 miles because, again, LA traffic sucks) and if there’s a worse type of driver than the one who refuses to keep up with the flow of traffic, I’d like to know what kind that is.
All I can say is, I do not know how I did this for over 2 years, 3 hours a day and I hope to god to never have to do it again.
Anyways, here’s the cool bridge jump scene from Gone in 60 Seconds, because there is a man who knew how to keep up with the flow of traffic!
Header Image Source: Buena Vista Pictures/YouTube