‘The right lane is faster’, and other thoughts I don’t appreciate in a traffic jam

I’ve never really had an issue with the “Baby on Board” sticker some drivers elect to put on their car – not because I think it’s of any use. I have a baby, who is often on board, though I don’t believe declaring it to the world means someone is less likely to crash into me. But I appreciate some feel safer with the sticker, and if that gives them false hope, then go for it. I am not here to judge.

Unless, of course, the Baby on Board driver dangerously cuts in front of you during early morning gridlock when your nerves are already frayed because you’ve been sitting in the car for 45 minutes but are still only five minutes from home.

In that case, I absolutely am here to judge and will do so viciously. “I’m sorry, but if you’ve got a baby on board and want everyone to know that, then maybe drive like someone who actually loves your baby.”

After two hours in traffic, anyone who acts on the urge to late merge should be sent to prison.Credit: Dionne Gain

This complaint is directed at my wife, Kate, who is only half listening while scrolling Instagram – such is the passenger seat prerogative. We are crawling along a choked highway on the way to work, trapped in the collective commuter nightmare that is bad traffic. “Yeah, annoying,” is the most she can muster.

To make matters worse, I don’t even get a thank-you wave, so I am now stuck behind this person, presumably for eternity, forced to stare at their stupid cartoon family taunting me from the back windshield.

Few things are more infuriating than being stuck in traffic, a proper exercise in wasting time.

Try as you might to distract yourself, there’s no escaping the reality that you are in a four-door prison of your own making. You cycle through radio stations. You tap the steering wheel with your fingers. You press all the buttons in the car you’ve never pressed before, praying one of them causes you to self-destruct.

Nothing works, and all that’s left to do is to bemoan your bad luck as a way of blowing off steam: “This is insane. Why are all these people going to work today?”

From the passenger seat, my wife shoots me a look, which I know means: You’re being unreasonable. She is undoubtedly right, and yet reason no longer has a role to play here, not when elderly joggers are running past us while we idle idiotically.

Having passed the hour-and-a-half mark (on a journey that normally takes 20 minutes), tensions are rising inside and outside the car. At this point, Kate, previously content to be a silent passenger, assesses the situation and determines she must weigh in: “You know, the right lane is faster.”

This is the kind of comment those in the passenger seat love to make, a subtle suggestion framed as helpful but loaded with subtext. See also: “They’re letting you in”, “Do you want me to put my map on?”, and my personal favourite, “We should’ve taken that last exit”.

Rather than point out that while the right lane might be currently moving, it, too, will surely soon grind to a halt, I follow Kate’s advice and obnoxiously nose my way in. This elicits a chorus of angry horn beeps, my pathetic attempt to mouth the words “I am so sorry” doing little to calm the raging crowd behind me.

And the reward for such a daring move? The right lane almost instantly clogs up, and the lane we abandoned, Wonderful Reliable Middle Lane, miraculously clears. Naturally, when I return to the middle lane, the right lane opens up again, and now no one in the car is happy.

On another day, this might be the precursor to an “I told you so” fight, but thankfully, distraction arrives in the form of a common enemy: the Late Merger.

As we approach a tunnel, three lanes become two, and while most of us accept our fate and form an orderly line, a red BMW (because, of course) speeds towards the bottleneck. Oblivious to the outrage, the driver throws his blinker on and weasels back into the lane, cutting out an entire line-up of fools, me included.

Needless to say, there is a special place in hell for those who merge late, defying the traffic gods and leaving the rest of us to perish. Surely, at a time like this, the only logical feeling is seething indignation, and yet, from the passenger seat, I see a look of admiration from my wife: “I wish we’d done that.”

Find more of the author’s work here. Email him at [e-mail] or follow him on Instagram at @thomasalexandermitchell and on Twitter @_thmitchell.

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