For countless children summer ended this week and a new school year began. There was a lot of weeping and gnashing of teeth. From me, that is. Because this week commuter traffic, which has been dormant since school let out in June, returned to full volume. Gone are the easy drives to and from my office, which is about 40 miles from home, and in their place are tortuous, bumper-to-bumper grinds during which my top speed rarely touches 30 miles per hour.
On a typical workday now the snags start about two miles from my house at the town rotary, which for extended rush hour periods is frozen in mind-numbing gridlock as cars entering from five points cluster in the center like moths drawn to a porch light. A Mexican standoff then ensues with each driver looking to his or her right for an opening to proceed. Of course, none exits. We have entered The Twilight Zone. As I sit there, I think travelers from other towns will come upon this scene and behind the steering wheels of motionless vehicles find skeletons with their boney skulls locked in frightening death screams. The ambient level of carbon monoxide in the rotary is probably high enough to kill lab rats. I expect to see squirrels and birds dropping with thuds from the neighboring trees. And in Katrina-disaster fashion, I envision myself on top of my car waving frantically to news helicopters circling overhead hoping for rescue.
Miraculously, I get through the jam and work my way over to Route 9, which is already a sea of red taillights heading eastward. The Mass Pike and Route 128 are still ahead, looming Everest-like in the commuter mountain range. I contemplate a new life as a stay-at-home stock trader, earning a hefty income speculating in companies that manufacture traffic-management technologies. In a car moving at the speed of blown waste paper, one can dream.
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