Traffic Part II

One thing that really gets to me about this place, is traffic. You can not want to get anywhere quickly. If you try, you are just setting yourself up for disappointment. Today for instance, I made arrangements with an employee of mine to help me go to the dump to pick up some compost. As usual he was late. Not just Brandon late, but one hour late. I was pretty sure the dump closed at 4 PM, he said he would be at my place a quarter until 3 PM. 3:48 PM he comes rolling in. Under normal circumstances, it's probably 15 minutes from my house to the dump. I knew I had to do some fancy driving to get there on time. From my house until you reach 'O' street it is just one lane, and for some reason that only the zombies know, going the speed limit is a big no-no here in the capital city. But once I hit those two lanes, it was time for me to shine. I was weaving in and out of traffic, making good time. Then I was cut off by a trucker and got stuck in a zombie-jam. It was like we were moving in slow motion, only the clock was going at it's normal pace. Finally I broke free from the pack, and promptly ran into a 25 mph speed limit zone. Finally the speed limit goes back up to that break neck speed of 35 mph, only to go back to 1 lane. We arrived at the dump at 4:04 PM, and found out they are open until 4:15 PM. Though it is a strange time to close, I didn't argue and was able to get a bountiful truck load of rich black compost. But the point is, to try to get from one place to another quickly in this stinkin' town is futile. The only thing that is accomplished is a persons blood pressure going through the roof from the road rage that accompanies Stinkin' Lincoln driving. It makes me want to go to Nobbies in Omaha and pick up a container of rubber balls. When I was young and stupid, some friends and myself would take rubber bouncing balls and as a car was coming at us from the opposite direction, we would throw the balls at the car as it was passing ours. The ball would bounce back and forth between our car and theirs making a god awful noise. Back then it was just a harmless prank, today, it would be a form of road rage. Well, I guess it would be better than using my car like a battering ram. Hmmm, I wonder if they sell those rubber balls by the pallet?