
Originally Posted by
Eric
Elizabeth! I'm coming to join ya!
(If I ever get out of this traffic jam)
By Eric Peters
Did we really need a study to tell us that grinding our lives away in traffic jams leads to increase stress and thus the chances of ending up in the cardiac care ICU? Who among us thought it might be soothing to be bolixed in by forces beyond our control -- our range of action as limited as a broiler chicken in a factory farm wire mesh cage? To stare at an endless succession of "My child is an honor student at Pretentious Tot Academy"? To spend an hour covering a distance of 15 miles?
Kidding aside, the recent study documenting the correlation between the amount of time a person spends mired in traffic and his or her chances of flatlining by the side of the road, spittle trickling out of the corner of their mouths, simply confirms what our overstressed bodies have been trying to tell us for years. Who among us has not felt the boil over? The uptick in heart rate -- the sweaty but futile rage that accompanies yet another bottleneck?
But despite the alarm bells -- physiological and otherwise -- warning us of the ugly end this business will lead to -- we stay the course, grumbling and miserable but putting up with it nonetheless.
It's a crazy way to live - spending as much as 10 hours per week stuck in a car -- which is merely average for a commuter living in a major urban/suburban area such as Washington, D.C. or Los Angeles. Many spend a lot more time than that. How is it that we voluntarily submit? If you think about it, spending a couple of hours per day in traffic is not qualititatively different from having been convicted of a minor crime and being sentenced to spend a day in the clink each week -- you know, like they do with DWI offenders and check kiters. Only there's no parole -- and the sentence is only going to increase over time.
Alarming projections about the likely increase in the population around major urban areas -- and thus the likely uptick in cars on the road -- paint a Xanax-bleak picture of a future in which untold millions of Americans will spend more time caged in their cars than with their families -- or doing something other than waiting for the car ahead to inch forward so they can make it home in time to grab a pot pie and crash for the night.
Where I used to live -- just outside Washington, D.C. -- workers had to leave by 7:30 to make it to the office by 9. And I was about 15 miles out from downtown. Folks living farther out -- in the ever-expanding sprawl of suburban tract developments -- get up even earlier. Some at 5 a.m. On the flip-flop, most suburban commuters punching out at 5 don't make it back to the homestead until well past six -- usually closer to 7 -- by which time they are understandably exhausted and looking to satisfy the most basic animal wants -- some food gulped down and a quick fade-out into eight hours of oblivion on the Serta Ultra Support. The microwave and Col. Sanders have supplanted the home cooked meal (who has time?) while only the strongest will supplemented by lots of coffee can rise to the occasion of helping with the homework or taking care of that thing that needs fixing.
Meanwhile, the body cries in protest; it can only take this sort of abuse for so long without repercussions. Obesity, high bllod pressure; diabetes -- all on the rise. Is it a coincidence?
Note also that those silly faux Graceland 5,000 square foot McMansions that keep popping up sit on ever-smaller lots -- typically 1/3 acre. (Two acres is considered an "estate.") Who cares if your neighbor's window is ten feet away -- so long as there's less grass to mow, less "upkeep" to have to deal with in the ever-diminsihing amount of spare time left to harried worker drones. It never occurs to these benighted souls that if they didn't have to spend so much time in their cars, they'd have time to care for -- and enjoy -- a decent-sized lawn, maybe a bit of elbow room between them and their neighbors. But instead, they'd rather be right on top of them -- just like they are when they're stuck in traffic.
Luckily, the relief of the grave draws ever nigher. It may be the only way out.
END