Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

What with the shift back to – what is it? – Standard Time, we’ve now entered that period of the year known to ol’ Robbo as the Time of the Mole People, those several deep, dark months of late fall/early winter in which my commute  each way is carried out in darkness.

I hates it.  I really do.

Anyhoo, it may just be my crabbed imagination, but it seems that this year it is taking the traffick rayther longer to get used to the darkness.   All Summah long, there is a certain daring-do bravado about the way people drive along my commuter route during rush hour.  Naturally, they tend to sober up once the Darkness first overtakes them and to no blame, but usually this transition is fairly quick and we’re back to bumper-to-bumper gridlock at various speeds.*

Not this time.  What has it been – two weeks or so now?  Day after day, ol’ Robbo keeps finding himself stuck behind some pokey, hesitant driver unwilling to keep up with the flow and instead intent on riding their brakes.  Why is this?  I dunno.  Globull Warmening, probably.

I am not, and never could be, a Road Rage Guy.  I am, however, susceptible to what one might call Road Fume Syndrome, the condition where one finds oneself muttering under one’s breath and speculating about the intelligence, morals, situational awareness, and parentage of the doofus in front of one who is seemingly incapable of more than 50% of the speed they ought to be maintaining despite the fact that others are thundering past them, and also despite the fact that those trapped behind are dependent on them to keep from getting stuck in the middle of an intersection when the lights change.

Grrrr….

I must admit that, although this feeling goes directly against Christ Jesus’ directive that we exercise patience, these are the times that I long for the commercial availability of passenger vehicle photon torpedoes.

Mea culpa.  Now get the hell out of the way!  Mr. Checkov? Fire!

 

*Ol’ Robbo’s morning commute consists of a traverse of his near-outer suburb, a jaunt down a parkway and a claw through downtown to his office.  Evening? Strike that. Reverse it.  Without traffic, I could make it between Port Swiller Manor and the ol’ office in about half an hour.  Because I get in early, I usually make it in about forty-five minutes in the morning.  In the evening?  With good conditions, it’s closer to an hour.  However, it is not at all unusual for me to take between one and a half to two hours to claw my way home, especially at this time of year.   So you can understand my frustration, I hope.

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