Big Cities

I don’t know how much they pay folks who live in large metropolitan areas, but whatever it is, it’s not enough! Circumstances have dictated that I have had to drive from South Georgia to the north side of Atlanta, Georgia several times lately. Driving on I-75 is akin to a NASCAR race. If you drive any slower than 82 mph, you will get run over. It doesn’t help at all to have my built in speed nagger in the front passenger seat constantly telling me that I am driving too fast while I am fighting to stay alive.


However, the fun really begins once I near Atlanta. I remember flying into San Francisco several years ago, renting a car, and driving up into the wine country. There must have been 10 lanes of traffic, but everyone was strolling along at 55-65 mph, and they were all happy as a clam to let you change into another lane if you needed to get over. Now maybe they were all smoking a little dope, and on medicated peace and tranquility, but even though the traffic was horrendous, the driving was easy and pleasant.


NOT SO WITH ATLANTA TRAFFIC! Once you approach the outskirts of Atlanta, you run into thousands of commuters who must wake up just plain mad at the world each day. They are all driving like speed demons, bumper to bumper, and hell bent for leather to get somewhere. I know where I want a good many of them to arrive, and it’s quite warm down there.I’m the kind of driver who likes to keep a little distance between me and the car in front of me. In Atlanta, that is a veritable invitation for a driver to yank his car right in front of you.


Should you need to change lanes, nine out of ten drivers will close up on you if they see your blinker on just to make certain that you have no chance to get into the lane you need to be in. Consequently, you are unable to take the exit you need, and then that aggravating lady inside my GPS unit starts repeating,” recalculating”. She has been known to ask me to make an illegal U turn which would be tantamount to suicide.


By this time my built in speed control passenger in the front seat has finally stopped talking because her knuckles are white, and she has assumed the crash position as taught by the airlines. What these Atlanta drivers do not know is that I have a really big pistol in my glove compartment, and a smaller pistol strapped to an ankle holster. One of these days I’m going to poke that big, old Judge pistol of mine up one of their nostrils, and let them enjoy hyperventilating for a while like I do while trying to reach my destination alive.


I do not think any native southerners live in Atlanta any more. I know that we were all raised to be courteous and respectful of our fellow man. All of the drivers that I have encountered in Atlanta traffic remind me of the old song by Alabama that goes: ” I’m in a hurry to get things done. I rush and rush until life’s no fun. All I’ve really got to do is live and die, but I’m in a hurry, and don’t know why.”


As for me, I am so much happier driving on dirt roads and dodging deer. That’s the kind of traffic problems I enjoy!