The Public Eye

printed 06/21/2019

Solo drivers who find themselves stuck in a traffic backup have two ways of dealing with it.

They can suffer through the four stages of vehicular immobility — (1.) grief, (2.) anger, (3.) denial, and (4.) acceptance, as in (1.)“Oh noooooo,” (2.) “Oh! no!,” (3.) “Absolutely no!,” and (4.)“No? Oh.”

Or, they can do as I do, which is try not to think too much about it, such as speculating why whoever’s causing the problem 150 cars in front of you got shorted by the evolutionary process and has a walnut-sized brain that doesn’t understand you can’t parallel park a 16-foot-long car in a 15-foot space no matter how many times you go forward, backward or sideways, you filter-feeding idiot.

Not that I’ve given anything like that much thought.

No, I handle it as a mature adult by letting my mind wander until the guy behind me alerts me to the prospect of moving forward by playing a one-note car horn concerto.

“Hmph, what? Oh, sorry.”

That’s more or less what happened when I was stuck behind the 17th Street CVS for so long the other day that I thought about calling for a pizza delivery.

°°°

Tum te tum, de dum. Hmmm, I wonder if that guy at the head of this line has a walnut br …. No. I’m not doing that to myself. I’ll think about other things …

°°°

... born on a mountain top in Tennessee, killed him a ‘bar’ when he was only three … Davy, Davy Crockett, king of the wild frontier.

°°°

Hey, on the sidewalk. Moby Dick. Put a shirt on, will you?

°°°

Tum te tum … That’s right, that’s right, you kids yuk it up over there on the sidewalk while you can. I’m sucking up all your social security and you don’t even know it.

°°°

Lady, lady. High top tennis shoes and shorts? What are you thinking? And what’s with the tattoo? I don’t know how to get around New York either, but I wouldn’t think having a street map on your thigh would be much help if you’re driving. Oh. That’s not a map? It’s a condition? Sorry.

°°°

Tum te tum. Hello? I’m just calling to say it’s a good thing the seat next to me is empty. Why? Because in another minute or two, I’ll be beside myself. Bada boom. Ha, ha.

°°°

I wonder, IS there a guy at the head of this line? Maybe this is all an illusion and I’m in purgatory awaiting my room assignment … and my roommate is Moog, the caveman, who, apparently, is at the head of this stupid line. If it exists.

°°°

Hmmm. Why is it that I remember the lyrics to Davy Crocket from the 1955 Disney TV show, but can’t remember how to prevent memory lapses?

°°°

HONKKKK! HOOOOOOONNNNK!

°°°

“Hmph, what? Oh, sorry.” I moved on, and as I glanced in the rearview mirror, I saw the driver mouth the words, “You filter-feeding idiot. You’re holding up traffic.”

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