In about three hours, I’ll step outside and do a most dangerous thing…
The commute home. Friday and Saturday nights, the drunk to crazy ratio is about even…and the sober drivers are outnumbered by the crazy ones by about 20 to 1.
I have to carefully watch my mirrors on the highway…I’ve dodged VERY fast cars coming up on my “six” more times than I care to count…at least once each of these nightly commutes. Usually more than that. I can peg it at 90+ and still be passed by dozens of cars/minute.
Of all the things that could happen in this world…one of these idiots running up my tailpipe is the most likely to get me. Drunks fixate on lights you see…and I often spot them drifting my way…whilst closing on me from behind at wobbly triple-digit speeds.
Why do I do it? Work makes me. I have to commute in to work (despite the fact I could do most all of this from home), and thus, have to commute home. Wanna get paid? Then ya do it. Public transit shuts down about 2 hours before we do, so that’s out.
Nothing good seems to happen between 1:30am and 4:00am these nights. That time, as one co-worker put it, is “Drunk-thirty”.
Where are the cops in all this? Heh…at home, asleep of course…just a few (that pissed somebody high-up off) relegated to the night shift. All the day guys are all worn out from their relentless pursuit of revenue. I usually don’t spot any till I hit the suburbs…and they are simply running radar on the side streets.
I fear almost nothing…I’m often confident to the point of arrogance…but the commute home on these nights gives me a twinge…a twinge that even riding alone in the wilderness…or down a 26% grade with full gear…doesn’t. A twinge that nowhere else in probably three-quarters of a million miles consistently comes close.
That says something. I just wish I knew what.