Commute

When we all searched desperately for the career that would inevitably take over our future years, we could have chose to leave NY, but none of us did! With that being said, I will take a look at the seven minute ride that plagues me almost each and everyday of the week.



You would think that at certain times of the day, like early AM, people on the road would be somewhat reserved in their over dramatic and heedless driving style. I can attest that even with my minor commute this is not the case. New Yorkers, as I see it, are inbreed with a rage that mostly comes to the surface when they start the engine to the vehicle that will soon morph into a "rage cage". Whether you drive on the expressway, parkways, or just local streets you will be faced with the people that think they always have the right away even if they don't. This state is the only place where a simple lane change can be compared to a medieval dual at dusk. Drivers contemplate if they have enough room to get ahead of you before they look into whether or not they have enough room to let you in. The battle for a car length seems to outweigh the conceivability of an accident.



As I restate the mere fact that I have a short commute and I am bothered by the devilish ways in which people drive, I will unearth the reality of a long commute.



Lets take my wife for instance. She has around a thirty minute drive through the sewers that us long islanders call roads. From the first entry way to the expressway there are horns honking and the quest for that car length that will determine one mans tardiness begins. From there we go to the five minutes of a decent cruise speed until the slow expansion of the sea of tail lights engulfs her car in the flood of red and her speed reaches ZERO. As the flood of red recedes and the speed picks up, the anger among the drivers is enraged and lane changes are the new enemy. She picks a lane and the nascar enthusiasts start zooming around her one at a time. When the next slow down approached, all the race car hopefuls are now even with, if not behind, where she comes to a stop. All of this just proves that driving like an ass gets you no where.



As the dust clears and she reaches exit 53, she exits like everyone else and picks her side street of choice. Now the creepy car behind her at a green light is just shy of revving the engine a quarter of an inch off the bumper of her car in anticipation of a green light. This is all too reminiscent of the start of a drag race at the strip with the tower of lights that signal its "go time". When the light changes green a mental reaction is triggered where if he can not immediately go forward, he beeps his horn unmercifully.



With this being said I can surmise this area with one statement, "New York drivers are in a constant state of rage".



So the next time you get in your car and venture out into the depths of hell on our roads, just relax in hopes that they will one day do the same. Remember that if the one car length is the reason you are late in the morning, you need to either leave earlier or get a closer job.