A Car Stuck in Traffic on a December Evening in 2019

Absalom Abalone

Waiting waiting waiting. I can't believe this. I just want to go home. Oh, I'm so tired. So so so so so tired, but I absolutely can't fall asleep at the wheel. Oh, why did this have to happen? I just want to go home already, for God's sake. Look at how it is outside—look at the perfect pure pitch black sky.

The snow's falling and I have to keep my windshield wipers on. The rubber blades squawk hideously across the glass, and I make a mental note to myself to replace the blades this weekend: a burden of a task that's been hanging over my head for the past four months, which I'm sure I'll forget about again as soon as I get home. It's only 8:47 PM but man, I'm tired, so tired. I miss the summer when the sun wouldn't set 'til after 9. The darkness is just too depressing. Well, it's not too long until the equinox anyway, and then the days will start getting longer again. Then I guess I'll have something to look forward too. This cycle of the days growing longer and shorter happens every year like clockwork —although I guess that's kind of a redundant comparison. Forgive me, I'm not the best at writing or making up original ideas. Especially when I'm stuck in traffic on the 401 in my teeny tiny small-as-shit car at 8:49 PM.

Okay, practically speaking, my car's not really that small. It's a crummy 2001 Chevy Impala, which I guess makes it medium-size. At least it's not as small as those tiny 2-seaters. But being in here is making me feel claustrophobic. I don't have a blanket in my car. What if my gas cuts out?

Hey—I'm in Math, I could've used a comparison to a sine function or something. But I don't remember if the amount of daylight per day followed a sinusoidal curve. Was that something I ever learned?

I feel pretty restless and I want to move my legs around, but I also have to keep my foot on the brake pedal. Can't this lane move any faster? I feel like I've inched forward 50 metres in the last five minutes. I breathe out a heavy sigh.

I guess not keeping a blanket in my car isn't too bad. Worst comes to worst, I'll always have my phone on me. Then I remember the fact that last Wednesday, I left my phone in MC 4021 after AMATH 250. Thankfully, it was still exactly where I had left it, lying face-down and without a trace of any malicious touch when I went back to look for it a couple hours after. My phone's a Moto G6 though, and on top of that it's got an ugly, scuffed, cheapo plastic screen protector from AliExpress applied to it: I realize it's probably looks completely worthless to someone trying to make a quick buck by flipping stolen devices on Kijiji. It is actually completely worthless. So this all means that I'll probably always have my phone on me and I don't really need to have a blanket in my car. Oh—but then what about when my phone's dead or I don't have reception? I've thought about this many times before, however, and for whatever reason, I don't start thinking about it now.

One thing I hate about being stuck in traffic is the idling. I can just feel the money and nitrogen oxides dribble out of the exhaust pipe as I sit, motionless in the lane. I feel helpless. The reason I left so late in the first place was to avoid post-workday traffic. Now I've been stuck in the snowstorm for over half an hour. My feeble car heater is just enough to stave off the feeling of ice in my fingers and toes, but I'd still kill to take a warm shower and bury myself under my quilts in my bed in my parents' house right now. If it wasn't for the traffic, I'd already be there by now. Now, I am stuck in horrid traffic on the 401. Now, now, now, now, now. Right now I'm on a slight incline, and with the falling snow it's hard to see how far ahead of me the traffic goes. All I now know is the license plate in front of me. SNVV-003. If only it was snowing a little harder right now, my windshield would be more wet and my wipers wouldn't be making that awful squeaking noise.

If I had a functioning car radio or an aux port, I could drown out the sound of the squawking wipers. I'd have something to take my mind off this traffic. Distract me. I'm so tired but I can't fall asleep, you see? I'm so tired but I can't—

I see the faint, flashing blue and red lights of two cop cars peek over the roofs of the cars ahead of me. Soon enough, I get to see the accident a little clearer. Soon enough, I'm driving by the cop cars and ambulances. Soon enough, my own car's speedometer reads 105 Kph, and soon enough, I make it home past curfew.