Breakdown Lane

Earlier today I was stuck in traffic. What would otherwise have taken fifteen minutes took about an hour.

At one particularly straining stretch, I look to my right to see a giant tractor trailer only inches away from hitting me. Unsure of how I hadn’t noticed it creepin’ up in the shoulder before, I attempted to scoot a bit to the more leftish area of my lane.

Of course, there was really nowhere for me to go. I couldn’t speed up to leave room behind me or slow down to leave room in front. Whichever way I might budge, so would the metal monstrosity. Closer when I would move away, and even closer than that when I wouldn’t.

Finally, I was able to work out a space big enough in front of me by inconveniencing those behind. The driver would be able to squeeze that barrel of terrors inside this lava flow and we’d be all fine and dandy. I mean, the truck’s signal had been going for the past ten minutes. Surely, I was solving everything.

The hole didn’t take. At risk of being crushed from behind this time, I gave the truck a generous twenty seconds to make a move toward the gap in front of me, but no luck. Just as it seemed like it was making a move toward the lane proper, it pushed back in the opposite direction.

Remember, this whole time my little silver world was entirely and quite nearly crushable.

After an uncomfortable, confusing, and snail-like procession through the next quarter mile, the super truck began to scoot forward a little faster in its special lane and head straight for the corner of the rock wall beside us. Barely missing letting the wall do to its own side what I had been sure it was going to do to mine, the roaring decepticon screeched to a hault by some wild foliage.

Able to catch a quick glimpse, I saw for the first time that it was not its turn signal, but its hazard lights that the robot-in-disguise had been flashing. Furthermore, when the motor-grind finally let me pass by the scene, two haggard-looking gents had popped out and opened up the beast’s belly. Steam poured from its draconian mouth-piece, but as I peeled toward my exit, I caught a glimpse in my rearview mirror—one man patting another on the back, a resigned despair on both their faces.