The Boss Wants Another Traffic Report

So, here’s our traffic report. If it's overnight, the roads are empty. Except for two winos crossing the street and parallel parking in front of the police station, and one street sweeping vehicle the driver of which keeps losing his revolving curb brushes in front of Hooters.

If it's morning, the roads are at a standstill. Even the bikers who usually stop to flash you that smug grin because they can thread between lanes and you in your big cars can’t. So now’s your time to flash them the smug grins you owe them, knowing they can’t dismount to give you a chain whipping because every third car stuck in these jams is a squad car that can’t change lanes.

If you want to call it midday, you can. If they can call Pluto a non-planet, I suppose you can call the hour anything you want. But if you are calling it midday, the roads are still at a standstill. That’s because both directions are tied up. And that's thanks to a case of road rage that involves someone using a spontaneous automatic window tinter the better to keep the highway voyeurs from watching him having phone sex with the brunette two lanes to his left.

But if you prefer to call it afternoon-evening rush, I’m sorry. This is not Maxwell House Masochism Time.