Thursday, December 23, 2004
Little blue haired traffic jammer
I was on my way to work this morning. Since most of America took today off, there was very little in the way of traffic. That was until I came to the end of a long line of cars. There was a slowdown for some reason. Nobody was going faster than 60. I could see up ahead that there were two cars side by side going the same speed. There was nobody in front of them except the few who were either lucky enough to get around them or the bold who took the carpool lane temporarily (a sin I don't commit or condone, but completely understand the argument).
So, I waited in line like everyone else. Eventually (1 1/2 mile before my exit), I got up to the front car. I looked over and saw a hat and two gloved hands reaching up for the steering wheel. Yup, it was a little old lady with blue hair traffic jammer.
I'd heard about them, but I always thought it was the stuff of legend. The legend says that every morning at around 7:30, a little old lady in each metropolitan area climbs up into her Buick Roadmaster and starts off on her journey to her sewing circle (bridge club, Canasta group, whatever). When she, this mythical beast, gets onto the freeway, she has an ingrained need to find the slowest car and pull up right beside it. The other slow car doesn't comprehend what is going on because of lack of sleep or "road zone hypnosis" or because of the sedative dart that the little old lady is able to shoot out of a special gland on her neck.
I got to the front of the line, and much to my surprise, didn't cut into her lane to "show her a lesson". I simply sped away in happiness - having freed myself from the evil snare of the "Little Blue Haired Traffic Jammer".
So, I waited in line like everyone else. Eventually (1 1/2 mile before my exit), I got up to the front car. I looked over and saw a hat and two gloved hands reaching up for the steering wheel. Yup, it was a little old lady with blue hair traffic jammer.
I'd heard about them, but I always thought it was the stuff of legend. The legend says that every morning at around 7:30, a little old lady in each metropolitan area climbs up into her Buick Roadmaster and starts off on her journey to her sewing circle (bridge club, Canasta group, whatever). When she, this mythical beast, gets onto the freeway, she has an ingrained need to find the slowest car and pull up right beside it. The other slow car doesn't comprehend what is going on because of lack of sleep or "road zone hypnosis" or because of the sedative dart that the little old lady is able to shoot out of a special gland on her neck.
I got to the front of the line, and much to my surprise, didn't cut into her lane to "show her a lesson". I simply sped away in happiness - having freed myself from the evil snare of the "Little Blue Haired Traffic Jammer".
