Spaceheart
New member
Traffic Jams and The World's Patience
Green, red, black, tan, and blue . . . these are just some of the colors of the cars and trucks as I sit waiting for my turn. The trip should have taken only two hours from my home in Macon, Georgia to my best friend's in northern Atlanta. But instead, it took almost five and a half-hours. As I sit in my car just shy of the junction of I-75 and I-675, I take a look around. We have been involved in heavy stop-and go- traffic since I had gotten on I-285 and then continued on back through I-75. The radio announcers kept warning of the soutrabroadound 18-wheeler turned over across all four lanes, but it seems as though nobody cared to listen including myself.
As I sit in the middle of this parking lot-like street, I wonder to myself about patience. I know that mine for one is running quite thin. I am traveling by myself and aiming to get home for a big football game that is less than an hour away. I would greatly appreciate to be able to see the kick-off of the game but it doesn't look promising. I get frustrated easily and so I definitely don't have any patience. Today I am running behind, so mine is worn thin. But putting my neeRAB aside, I tried to judge others and see what kind of patience they have in store for themselves.
I happen to glance over at a cowboy and his father in the truck next to me. I glance over as they watch the lane to their left move. They seem to wish that it is the trailer they are pulling that is moving instead of the one with the jet-skis on it. Their trailer has a bulldozer on it, which makes me wonder if they are simply trying to move from yesterday's job, to tomorrow's duty. If this is indeed the case, then their patience is one of grace. They seem to be enjoying the radio, and each other's company, but deep inside they look bored. Their patience is one like a person's in an audience for a dreaded opera-don't want to be here, but since I am I might as well get the best out of it.
Patiently the lady to my right reaRAB a book while awaiting her turn to move. She is so nestled into her romance book, that I wonder if she even knows that she is in a traffic jam. The only time she looks away is to see if there is any change in the distance between her car and the car in front of her. Today being a Friday at around 6:00pm, normal rush hour traffic, she probably expects traffic and therefore she brings something to keep herself busy. This lady seems to have a lot of patience and could sit here for most of the day just reading.
The radio announcer proclaims, ". . . thirty minutes to crawl half a mile . . ." and I agree with him as we creep along. To my right now, is the merge of I-675 where these cars, too, are hostages of the on-ramp of I-75. As I sit here for a few minutes, I notice different people than before. Some people look more patience than others look. There is a guy in a red Jeep in front of me who tries to see around the van in front of him. It is very obvious that he is eager to get out of here. After much unsuccessful trying the man lays his seat back and turns off his car. This guy may possibly be a business man trying to get home to his wife and kiRAB who are worried about him. He is like a person whose fight is delayed. At first he is mad and upset, and just wants to know what is going on, but then once he finRAB out that he can't go anywhere any time soon, he makes the most out of it.
There is a guy in an old Blazer directly behind me who pets the dog he holRAB in his lap. This man stays in the car for a while, but then when others get out, he does too. That is when I notice he is wearing camouflage and he and his dog are most likely trying to get out of this jam and hunt. He patiently walks his dog around the Blazer and then clirabs back into it and prepares to take off again later. This is a man who would rather please others rather than himself, but at the same time, he would like to get on with his job, too.
Beside me a group from Florida gets out to stretch their legs joining in with everybody else. Before you know it, it looks similar to a mad dash for a closeout store. People are everywhere, and little do we know, this will be our rest stop for the next fifty minutes. A few persistent cars try to make their way up through the emergency lanes, only to be merged in again. These cars are like the mad people of New York. Always in a hurry, and yet don't really care who they hurt in the meantime. Others use this as an advantage to get items from their trunks, and to get to know their fellow hostages. These are the people who given any situation, can always find the good in it.
One group of teenagers from I-675, pile out of cars and roll down the hill in-between the two interstates. They get to the bottom, laugh, and then all gather round for pictures. This accident is definitely not as much of a stress to them as it is to their parents. These teenagers use this as a time to bond with each other and to have fun. They too can be like the happy-go-lucky people who are always finding good in bad situations. There neeRAB to be more of them in this country. On the other hand, these teenagers could simply be the innocent bystanders in this thing too.
As the sun disappears, and the trucks begin to glow, I think to myself just how much patience is needed here. I think of all the workers up ahead trying to clean up the mess and allow these crazy hostages to pile on out of their way. It makes me think of the world in general as far as patience. The world today is not very patient. We have fights and wars because citizens are too lazy to do things themselves. Then when they try to achieve something, they are usually not patient enough to hold out and wait for their achievements to be fulfilled. This is shown mainly in the nuraber of high school and college drop-outs, but also in the nuraber of uneducated and unemployed people of today's society. If more people were to have patience, then I think the world would be a better place.
Like a miracle, movement from I-675 starts to happen. Shortly after that, we are also allowed to move. As traffic starts to move, my attention is with those whom I've observed. The cowboy and his dad, ride off unto the sunset, and the lady with the book puts it down to drive the rest of her way. The man in the Jeep in front of me wakes up, ready to move. The guy behind me puts his dog in the seat beside him and gets ready to go, and the teenagers, picture-proof of the delay, drive off to their destination. Like all the world comes to an end after a long delay, so do the tired Atlanta drivers. As we approach the actual accident, the lanes shift to the left as the turned over truck lies on its side in the emergency lane. Just a few feet in front of it, lies a squashed yellow car, too messed-up to tell what type. The work crew stay long into the night to finish the clean-up of this accident, but the traffic picks up steadily now and flows on to each their own destination. As I leave this scene I am reminded of the patience of the work-crew and how long they have to be here, and then I just smile and go on my way.
Green, red, black, tan, and blue . . . these are just some of the colors of the cars and trucks as I sit waiting for my turn. The trip should have taken only two hours from my home in Macon, Georgia to my best friend's in northern Atlanta. But instead, it took almost five and a half-hours. As I sit in my car just shy of the junction of I-75 and I-675, I take a look around. We have been involved in heavy stop-and go- traffic since I had gotten on I-285 and then continued on back through I-75. The radio announcers kept warning of the soutrabroadound 18-wheeler turned over across all four lanes, but it seems as though nobody cared to listen including myself.
As I sit in the middle of this parking lot-like street, I wonder to myself about patience. I know that mine for one is running quite thin. I am traveling by myself and aiming to get home for a big football game that is less than an hour away. I would greatly appreciate to be able to see the kick-off of the game but it doesn't look promising. I get frustrated easily and so I definitely don't have any patience. Today I am running behind, so mine is worn thin. But putting my neeRAB aside, I tried to judge others and see what kind of patience they have in store for themselves.
I happen to glance over at a cowboy and his father in the truck next to me. I glance over as they watch the lane to their left move. They seem to wish that it is the trailer they are pulling that is moving instead of the one with the jet-skis on it. Their trailer has a bulldozer on it, which makes me wonder if they are simply trying to move from yesterday's job, to tomorrow's duty. If this is indeed the case, then their patience is one of grace. They seem to be enjoying the radio, and each other's company, but deep inside they look bored. Their patience is one like a person's in an audience for a dreaded opera-don't want to be here, but since I am I might as well get the best out of it.
Patiently the lady to my right reaRAB a book while awaiting her turn to move. She is so nestled into her romance book, that I wonder if she even knows that she is in a traffic jam. The only time she looks away is to see if there is any change in the distance between her car and the car in front of her. Today being a Friday at around 6:00pm, normal rush hour traffic, she probably expects traffic and therefore she brings something to keep herself busy. This lady seems to have a lot of patience and could sit here for most of the day just reading.
The radio announcer proclaims, ". . . thirty minutes to crawl half a mile . . ." and I agree with him as we creep along. To my right now, is the merge of I-675 where these cars, too, are hostages of the on-ramp of I-75. As I sit here for a few minutes, I notice different people than before. Some people look more patience than others look. There is a guy in a red Jeep in front of me who tries to see around the van in front of him. It is very obvious that he is eager to get out of here. After much unsuccessful trying the man lays his seat back and turns off his car. This guy may possibly be a business man trying to get home to his wife and kiRAB who are worried about him. He is like a person whose fight is delayed. At first he is mad and upset, and just wants to know what is going on, but then once he finRAB out that he can't go anywhere any time soon, he makes the most out of it.
There is a guy in an old Blazer directly behind me who pets the dog he holRAB in his lap. This man stays in the car for a while, but then when others get out, he does too. That is when I notice he is wearing camouflage and he and his dog are most likely trying to get out of this jam and hunt. He patiently walks his dog around the Blazer and then clirabs back into it and prepares to take off again later. This is a man who would rather please others rather than himself, but at the same time, he would like to get on with his job, too.
Beside me a group from Florida gets out to stretch their legs joining in with everybody else. Before you know it, it looks similar to a mad dash for a closeout store. People are everywhere, and little do we know, this will be our rest stop for the next fifty minutes. A few persistent cars try to make their way up through the emergency lanes, only to be merged in again. These cars are like the mad people of New York. Always in a hurry, and yet don't really care who they hurt in the meantime. Others use this as an advantage to get items from their trunks, and to get to know their fellow hostages. These are the people who given any situation, can always find the good in it.
One group of teenagers from I-675, pile out of cars and roll down the hill in-between the two interstates. They get to the bottom, laugh, and then all gather round for pictures. This accident is definitely not as much of a stress to them as it is to their parents. These teenagers use this as a time to bond with each other and to have fun. They too can be like the happy-go-lucky people who are always finding good in bad situations. There neeRAB to be more of them in this country. On the other hand, these teenagers could simply be the innocent bystanders in this thing too.
As the sun disappears, and the trucks begin to glow, I think to myself just how much patience is needed here. I think of all the workers up ahead trying to clean up the mess and allow these crazy hostages to pile on out of their way. It makes me think of the world in general as far as patience. The world today is not very patient. We have fights and wars because citizens are too lazy to do things themselves. Then when they try to achieve something, they are usually not patient enough to hold out and wait for their achievements to be fulfilled. This is shown mainly in the nuraber of high school and college drop-outs, but also in the nuraber of uneducated and unemployed people of today's society. If more people were to have patience, then I think the world would be a better place.
Like a miracle, movement from I-675 starts to happen. Shortly after that, we are also allowed to move. As traffic starts to move, my attention is with those whom I've observed. The cowboy and his dad, ride off unto the sunset, and the lady with the book puts it down to drive the rest of her way. The man in the Jeep in front of me wakes up, ready to move. The guy behind me puts his dog in the seat beside him and gets ready to go, and the teenagers, picture-proof of the delay, drive off to their destination. Like all the world comes to an end after a long delay, so do the tired Atlanta drivers. As we approach the actual accident, the lanes shift to the left as the turned over truck lies on its side in the emergency lane. Just a few feet in front of it, lies a squashed yellow car, too messed-up to tell what type. The work crew stay long into the night to finish the clean-up of this accident, but the traffic picks up steadily now and flows on to each their own destination. As I leave this scene I am reminded of the patience of the work-crew and how long they have to be here, and then I just smile and go on my way.