Commute

I am almost always running late.  I'm usually finished getting ready for work by 7:27 a.m., yet I can never seem to leave the house before 7:40 a.m.  Today it was that I needed to find something to snack on at my desk, and the grapes in the fridge were turning into raisins (they're not mine anyway), so I ended up with a Tupperware container full of frosted shredded wheat squares.

Almost as soon as I'm in my car, I light a cigarette.  I am trying to quit, and by trying to quit I mean not smoking from the time I get home at night until I get in my car in the morning.  I don't smoke at work, either.  I work at a hospital, they sort of frown on it here.  I smoke on my way to work now, usually two cigarettes since it's at least a twenty minute drive.  It won't kill me yet, right?

My car is old.  It's a 1992 Subaru Legacy wagon.  There's a turbo in it and a new alternator.  The master cylinder just got fixed and it has new-ish brakes.  It is maroon.  I call it Grampa, because little things tend to break on it.  My sunroof is sealed with metal sealant tape.  My passenger door only locks if you hold the handle while you shut the door.  The alignment is off, so the car always pulls to the right a little.  The tags are still from Colorado.  I love my car. 

I pull out of my neighborhood, making a left on a hard-to-make-a-left street.  I drive up to the main road, which is also the highway that goes straight to the beach.  More than once I've thought about making a left and just going to the shore, but my sense of adulthood kicks in and I make my right.  I resent my adulthood for a moment, but it fades as soon as it came.   

I sit at one light always, it's a light that goes to a dealership and it always blows my mind that people are at car dealerships before 8 a.m.  I guess since I have had Grampa for a while, I forget what car shopping is like.  Eventually, the light changes and I wait for the brake lights in front of me to blink off and the cars to start moving.  I like to get off this main highway as soon as possible, so I use a side street to cut over to Monroe Road.

Monroe Road has apartment complexes that are known for crack cocaine deals.  It has a lot of bus stops, a lot of immigrants, a lot of high school students walking to school.  Monroe Road also has a library, several gas stations, and a hydroponic supply store.  If you follow Monroe Road toward the city, it becomes 7th Street.  If you follow it out of the city, it becomes John St.  Monroe crosses the three main arteries that get to where I need to be : Idlewild, Sharon Amity, and Wendover.  I always take Wendover.

The traffic on Monroe intensifies between Sharon Amity and Wendover.  This has always mystified me, I can't see why this occurs.  There aren't any lane closures, there's only one traffic light.  It's as if people forget how to drive once they cross Sharon Amity.  I don't always mind the delay, especially if there's a good CD in my car.  Lately I've been listening to a mix a friend gave me, and it's so good I almost hope there is a delay.

Traffic breaks up at Wendover, and I make my left onto the street my building is off of.  This stretch of Wendover, being just off the highway, has a lot of fast food restaurants - KFC, McDonald's, etc.  There is also a Food Lion, a Habitat for Humanity, a FedEx, a post office, a clothing donation drop box, a closed restaurant, a bank, and a paint store. 

I have to turn right onto the street my building is off of, and Wendover picks up speed right around my turn.  Part of me feels bad for slowing down traffic, but part of me doesn't care at all.  I turn right, turn left, and turn right into my building parking lot.  As soon as I park, my right eye starts to twitch.

People complain about their commute.  The commute doesn't bother me as much as what I'm commuting to does.  So it goes, I suppose.