So you're stuck in traffic and you are freaking out. Feeling trapped and claustrophobic. You might ram the car in front of you just to break the monotony.
Stop go stop go.
Before you do something you might regret, use one of these tried and true methods to keep your cool.
1) Beep
Beep the fuck out of your horn. Lay on that thing. Beeeeeeeeeep! Beep! Beep! Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep! Feels good right? Satisfyingly loud and futile.
2) Scream
Best done in concert with the beeping.
3) Profanity
You can only scream incoherently for so long before you blow out your vocal chords.
4) Regret
Regret your decisions, big and small. You should have moved to Vermont long ago. You should live in the woods with three dogs. Own a few acres of land near a mountain. Grow your own organic produce and tend a chicken coop.
Instead, you're going to get lung cancer from the smog, your kids have asthma, and you just learned that those beautiful purple and red sunsets are particulate matter. Why do you still live in New Jersey? And why did you feel the need to drive up Route 18 on a Friday afternoon?
5) Play some music . . . NOT
You might think some groovy tunes would soothe your road rage, but music is a trap. Blasting upbeat songs will only remind you that you're stalled out, crawling through an industrial zone, while your friends drink beer at the bar.
Born to run? You're born plod.
Into the great wide open . . . my ass.
Life is a highway and you chose the wrong one.
6) Text and Drive
Texting while driving is dangerous and illegal, but might be distracting enough to take your mind off the herd of cars surrounding you. Text your wife, text your friends . . . text them about the traffic you are in. They would want to know about your pain and suffering. Warn them! Proclaim the apocalypse! Pity the fools that would drive into this pandemonium! Stay home! It's crazy out here!
7) Contemplate
Think really hard about traffic. Why are people stopping? What exactly is causing the back-up? You've heard it doesn't need to be an accident. It could be a near-miss . . . or a near-hit. It could be an old lady wearing a pink hat riding her brakes. Why don't they make old people retake their road tests?
And then there's the most disturbing thought of all: this morass of cars that's making your heart pound and your hands sweat, this congregation of flesh and steel bringing your blood to a rapid boil, making you wish things upon your fellow humans that Pol Pot would consider inhumane . . . it might be caused by phantoms, ghosts in the machine: emergent phenomena amplified by the agglomeration of absurdly random moments; a brake light here, someone playing with their phone there, a truck that needs to get over to the right to exit, a poorly executed zipper merge. Trivial events cascading into epic delay.
And then you see it. Lo and behold. The anticlimax itself. The raison d'etre for all your misery. A car on the shoulder.
Seriously?
That's why all these cars have slowed to a crawl? That cannot be it. There's got to be something else. A sinkhole or a helicopter crash.
Are people really fucking stopping to look at a stalled Civic on the side of the road? No accident. No one is dead. Not even an ambulance. One police car. This is what it's come to? No one has anywhere to be? And there's nothing but cars and brake-lights ahead, and there's no exit, no way off the road. And everyone is fine with this? All these commuters are fine with it? Day after day? Night after night? This is what we've chosen? Over maglev trains and flying cars and trolleys and horses and hydrogen powered buses? These rolling coffins?
Beeeeeeeeeep!
