Eight Miles a Minute For Months at a Time

Getting stuck in traffic sucks, yes. I lived in Los Angeles for long enough to earn pish-posh rights over everyone that complains about traffic. But there are certain times, certain circumstances, incidences, moments where I love nothing more than a giant going-nowhere line of cars on the ol’ H-way.  When all the cars have gone from five to two and then to no miles an hour, when everyone has sat inside their cars for a few minutes cussing and craning or checking their radio or finishing up their text messages for just long enough – the most magical thing happens: people start to get out of their cars, drivers first  (then backseat drivers, eventually a passenger will step out, then moms, maybe kids if it' has been long enough) and the random characters you have been sharing the road with reveal themselves.

Seeing rows of people step outside of their cars on the highway (or the Interstate as they call it in Arkansas) still gives me the kid-giddies of having breakfast for dinner. I’m usually not the first, but certainly the second, person in my vicinity to get out of my car during a real jam-up. I have a special way I put my hands on my hips so that people know that I too want to know what the samhell is going on.

Today the hold-up was in Heath, Arkansas. I waited for a few minutes trying to find a radio station that had some kind of traffic report  but the only broadcasted information available in Arkansas on the I-40 is biblical analysis. Not post-AD traffic info around any side of the dial. After I  saw a few people flip uturns in the median, I knew the situation had to be big – like a traintruck full of armadillos (I like to imagine armadillos in Arkansas but I think they are more of a Georgia or ‘Bama thing). 

Lucky for the shy guy from Texas in front of me and the slow fella from West Memphis behind me, I knew enough to check in with the gent captaining the flat bed 18-wheeler next to me for the scoopdydoop. He told me that another flatbed has lost his load a few miles up and he jumped out and said, “Mites well check mine while we are restin.” And I thought about asking him for a Coors Light because he seemed like he might have a cooler next to him.

A young guy in a waiters black vest suddenly appeared and said “guess y’all better grab a book, we are going to be here a while.” And I told all my new friends that I had a class to teach at 5 in Forrest City and they laughed and I laughed and those of us that had watches looked at them and laughed again, “No sir-reee you are not goin to make it.” It was a road moment. I was sorry I had finished my PB&J made on skinny Pepperidge Farm bread before West Memphis because I would have shared it with them. I was about to share another recipe with this nice looking woman that finally got out of a Durango a few cars up when the line started to move.

“Bye y’all” I waived as we scurried back to our cars as if the line would leave us behind.  And for the next twenty five miles to my destination I looked at every car that passed and I thought, I know you.