driving in and around the greater boston area: bad plan. best to have lots of insurance.

driving in and around the GBA in any sort of precipitation: better off staying home until teleportation is fully developed. (as my colleague's police officer hubby puts it, "the predominant attitude of the boston driver is airbags = invincibility.")

case in point:

my office is located in a very large commerical park that happens to house lots of medical and legal groups. read: a large portion of the people who drive here each morning have a) never been here before b) might come once yearly. therefore, the magical mystery knot of overpass roads that somehow get you off the highway and onto the two narrow lanes leading into the office park become bottlenecked with confused drivers each morning. add rain, stir, let simmer. season with only one dunkin' donuts within a four block radius. presto! angry drivah chowdah, in less time than it takes your motha to curse out derek jetah.

this morning, in an unseasonably muggy torrential downpour, many people were lost and confused trying to figure out exactly how to get off the highway and make it to their divorce attorney/gynecologist on time. as the light changed three times and no one moved, many horns sweetly sounded reminders that it would be an appropriate time to just say fuck it and run the lights (ahh, sweet urban logic).

the car in front of/next to me diagonally had a mysterious blinker on, even though there was no possible way that he was planning on taking a left turn into the guardrail. regardless, he wasn't moving. the irate driver of a ford taurus nearby decided that this car was the cause of FIVE LANES of backup (right), and began screaming obscenities. many horns around us begin to protest. the guy behind me starts leaning on his horn...i timed it. 1 minute, 36 seconds of howling volvo. kill me. there was nowhere for me to go, however, because damned if i was going to try to run down angry taurus driver, who (christ!) was now rolling down his window, waving his arms erratically, and reaching into the passenger seat (oh my god, oh my god, someone's going to get shot. do i remember cpr? any soft of lifesaving technique beyond the heimlich? who am i supposed to call besides ghostbusters?)

as two cars collide on the right side of me from trying to watch (i have now thrown it into park and am trying to decide whether i'm safer with my seatbelt on or off), angry taurus driver stands up and pegs mysterious blinker car with an empty poland springs water bottle. he-who-should-not-drive gets back into his car, and finds that during his tantrum, the traffic blockage has mysteriously cleared (thanks, assface, for ending three minutes of childish tantrum with an even MORE childish concluding act, thereby making approximately six hundred people later for their jobs, divorce attorneys, and stirrup appointments).

boston, you're my home. but i still want a bike.