Observations ofa newly-convertedcommuter

to class, I'm scraping frost off the windshield of my car and trying to merge between two big tractortrailers just to get onto the Blue Route.

I never knew so many people would be up at the same ungodly hour of the day just to drive somewhere.

Laura Casamento

I was late for class today.

I only mention this because it does not happen that often.

In fact, in the three years that I have been attending Cabrini, I can't remember being late all that often.

I don't skip classes either. I think that I've missed about two over the past few years.

But I do expect that to change.

From September 1996 until May 1999, all I had to do was roll out of bed and walk to class.

I didn't see any reason to skip or be late for class. There were no traffic delays, I wasn't very far away and if the weather was bad, I just pulled the hood of my jacket over my head.

Now, however, those three factors weigh very heavily in opposition to me.

I am a commuter. I've crossed the line. And now I understand why commuters and residents don't get each other.

Instead of falling out of bed at 7:45 a.m. to go to an 8:15 a.m. class, I'm up before the sun to wage war against my 16-year-old sister for control of the shower.

And instead of strolling across the sun-drenched lawn on my way

From the MacDade Boulevard entrance ramp all the way up to the Route 1 exit, I have the same routine.

First, I try to merge into traffic. This usually involves my initial attempt at aggression, which quickly deteriorates into giving some trucker the old puppy-dog eyes and hoping he has enough compassion to let me in.

Then, traffic suddenly speeds up to the incredible rate of about 25 miles per hour. It seems a lot faster on the highway than it does on, for example, a street where 25 miles per hour is the speed limit.

This burst of speed is suddenly interrupted by brake lights. Everybody stops. Then, just as suddenly, traffic starts moving again. I look around for the cause of the delay, expecting to see a huge, mangled car wreck. Instead, I see nothing. Why are we stopping?

This routine is largely the same all the way to Exit 5. Then, I have to try to enter Lancaster Ave.

For those of you unfamiliar with Exit 5, let me explain it to you. There are a total of four lanes on the exit ramp. The two on the lefthand side are reserved for people trying to make a left onto Lancaster Ave. The one on the right-hand side is for people trying to make a right onto Lancaster Ave. The one in the middle is for people trying to go straight onto King of Prussia Rd. This intersection is coupled with a traffic light rigged to let only the first five cars in line get through, thereby causing people all the way to Springfield to hit the brakes to avoid a pileup.

Now, there are always one or two dopes who try to be slick. They ride about three-quarters of the way down the lane to make a left onto Lancaster, and then stop and try to squeeze into the lane going straight onto King of Prussia. Therefore, every single lane is brought to a standstill, and two people make it through the intersection. This happens every rrwming.

This is why I get ticked at residents who come walking in ten minutes after the start of class or who miss class altogether because they're hung over. Traffic is nothing but one giant hangover, and I have to deal with it every day.

However, I love my new life. I get to eat a breakfast that does not end in the word "-kake." I can do my homework in relative peace and quiet And if I sleep through the alarm, my mommy comes in to wake me up.

This commuting thing is a pretty good idea.

I wish I had thought of it three years ago.

Laura Casamento is a news editor for Loquitur. If you ask her nicely, she may have you over for ukake.•

•In issue 3, we stated that we were one of 25 -£ (~ schools to receive five ACP marks of distinc- ___,,,,- Q tion. There were actually 55 publications to \ receive the honor.

•We spelled comedian John Belushi "John Balucci."

•Eagles kicker Norm Johnson did end up kicking the three-point field goal.