Everybody knows we roof persons drive all over the place. We try to set up our schedule so as not to go from Garland to Benbrook at 5:00 pm on Friday or go east on 820 from North Richland Hills to Irving just about anytime that is busy.
This morning it struck me. As I escaped from State Highway 183 on an sooner than normal exit ramp to avoid what the brake lights were warning me about, I imagined a traffic club. I need to get to the office early to orchestrate my business and this requires behaving like an employee, keeping a continuous schedule. No resetting appointments, no morphing the schedule, just getting there like a mailman in a snow storm. But those darn lights screamed " An hour here. Do you have enough gas?"
My intuition was right. As I sailed up the service road I saw cars driving across the medium, in the dark, to escape the morass of nervous cattle trying to pass on the Camino Real. The cowboys weren't there to keep them in line but the great mass moved like a school of fish, the majority towing the company line mindlessly. Isn't that what most drivers do? Kind of an "Andromeda Strain" blank stare into the flashing red lights. Zombie Motorists, calmly going where fate will let them go. Occasionally the Thorazine wears off and one of these sheep goes into a hysterical road rage. He has the right to scream as his biological clock is uselessly wasted but not the privilege to take it out on others with Andriettesque driving maneuvers. Remember these are drugged sheep, many just consuming their starch, sugar, and caffeine.
These are the lucky ones. They anticipate a pause in the high speed daily chase and bring their breakfast. Sometimes they are afforded a slow down or stop but if not they consume scalding hot liquids while scooting their little sheep amongst dinosaurs.
This is where "the Driving Club" comes in handy. I'm not suggesting we form a gang and beat up those who try to mimic Italian racers or WWF (or whatever it is now) showoffs. I'm suggesting using our communicators to relay to other members of the Federation when Klingons or Feringi attempt to incorporate a planet into their respective empires before Kirk has a chance to be seduced by their beauty queen.
I could have sent out a warning at Star Date 6:55 am that west bound 183 was experiencing a time-space distortion and all pods should take evasive maneuvers immediately. That way all members who set a special secret warning tone on the communicator that says a member has sent coordinates relating to dangerous enemy fleets could reset their courses.
This way we could all stop listening to the useless traffic updates that tell us of an upcoming nebulous cloud that has already captured us in its mysterious powers. Your sensors didn't pick it up until it was too late and still can't read exactly what it is or how large it is.
The members of "Driving Club" are nowhere to be found. They have gone around the traffic jam.
For all others, resistance is futile.
My e mail is firstname.lastname@example.org.
Jon Wright Roof Dallas
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