by Traffic Jams: Where Time Stops and Horns Start Sobbing
Traffic jams are the universe’s way of reminding you that no, you’re not in control, and yes, you will listen to the same three songs on repeat until your soul escapes through the sunroof. You left early. You’re still late. The GPS says, “Estimated arrival: LOL.”
You inch forward while contemplating your existence, the life cycle of brake lights, and whether you could survive on gum and frustration alone. A guy in the next lane is shaving. A child in the backseat of a minivan stares at you like he knows how you die. You blink first.
There’s always one person who thinks the shoulder is a lane. They zoom past. You hope karma’s fast. You fantasize about becoming a traffic cop just to tackle them with a cone.
The radio gives traffic updates that are either irrelevant or read by someone who sounds suspiciously cheerful about your suffering. “Accident on the 405! Backed up for miles! Happy Monday!”
Traffic jams are maddening, bonding, and weirdly existential. You arrive late, drained, and emotionally tenderized by honking. But you made it. Barely. And with a podcast episode now permanently burned into your brain. Good job, commuter warrior. Good job.
SOURCE: How To Write Comedy & SpinTaxi.com
