At one point I even said to Emily, "Give me the highway at rush hour over this any day. I would much prefer heavy traffic and aggressive drivers."
Well, I should have been careful what I wished for, because do you know where I found myself yesterday? The highway at rush hour.
Also, I have to note that in between conversations about sub-par drivers, Emily asked me about a recipe for chicken fajita pasta that I made for her once. She wants to make it next year at her college apartment, and said, "Well, I mean I could skip the chicken, and the onions. And the peppers, since I don't like peppers."
"Well, then it wouldn't really be fajita pasta, it would just be pasta with lots of butter and heavy cream."
"I know," she said, "doesn't that sound delicious?"
When you're right, you're right.
Back to yesterday, I had to drive into Philadelphia for a 3:00 meeting. I left at 12:40 to drive the 17 miles and didn't get there until 2:15. I would rather drive 500 miles on the highway, than 5 miles in the city. It stresses me out. People do crazy things, the roads are nutty, and the GPS gives directions like "use the left lane to turn right" and "use the middle lanes to turn left" because THAT MAKES TOTAL SENSE.
I made some questionable if not downright illegal maneuvers, but eventually I wound up at a parking garage close to the meeting where I was able to park for two hours for the bargain price of thirty dollars. The parking garage was near several theaters, and the floors were not only numbered, but assigned musical instruments. If I can't remember I parked on floor 3, there is NO WAY I will remember which member of the woodwind family I parked on, but I do enjoy a theme.
When it was time to leave, I found my car on trumpet and then planned to get to Broad Street because I knew if I stuck with that through 47 stoplights and a questionable area of the city, it's a straight shot home.
Problem was, I couldn't figure out how to get to Broad Street, so I decided to go with plan b, my GPS. At that point my only goal was to avoid the Benjamin Franklin Parkway, which features two very confusing, busy traffic circles.
The GPS said to merge onto state route 3007, which I quickly realized was the technical term for the Benjamin Franklin Parkway. I recognized it because I once led a parade down that very parkway in my sweet high school marching band uniform in honor of the Philadelphia Archbishop's retirement.
Anyway, there I was on the parkway, quickly approaching the circle of death in front of the art museum. I defaulted to my unfortunate tendency of just following the car in front of me when I'm not sure what I'm doing. I figured if the center lane was good enough for that silver Hyundai Elantra, it was good enough for me.
Except the driver of the Elantra wasn't going to my house, because as my GPS yelled at me to MERGE RIGHT ONTO KELLY DRIVE, I stuck solidly in that center lane with my Elantra friend and rounded the circle again.
Finally, and I do mean finally, I got out of the cycle of the circle and made it home.
You know, maybe driving with the 10 a.m. crew isn't so bad after all.
My new goal is to avoid the parkway at all costs.
Unless I'm asked to lead another parade.