True Story: My commute, lately, has been taking on average 26 minutes. Atrocious, I know. I understand to a majority of people my complaint sounds absurd and obnoxious, and the reason it sounds that way is due to the fact it is rather absurd and obnoxious. In my personal defense, I've found that the best pot of coffee is brewed by whoever arrives at the building about 15 minutes before I do. This means that I can enjoy the last cup of that masterfully brewed pot of black gold if I'm able to make my commute within 22 minutes. Lest it be that I arrive 23 minutes after I depart my house because the last cup is gone. Stolen from my grasps of uncaffeinated hatred for anything merry in the morning hours. And don't get me started if I happen to sprint into the building on that 24th minute. I may as well have not gotten out of bed, called it a day and retired to a sad state of dormancy based on my lack of coffee and income.
The question being raised by discerning readers is that of "Why, oh wonderful author of 'The Blog' (it's catching on, I can feel it), has your commute been extended by an unheard of amount of four to seven minutes?!?!" I'll tell you why.
Red Honda Civic.... Man.
This individual has become my arch nemesis in the world of morning commute crime fighting and prevention. What laws does he break? One could make an argument, which would withstand a minimum of two appeals in criminal court, that this menace to society commits the most egregious offense known to man: driving slower than the speed limit.
I know. Take all the time you need to recollect yourself and send any young children into the other room.
During my drive into work each morning, I mind my own business. I don't drive excessively fast, don't run stop signs, and don't drive like an intolerable member of society (in my own professional opinion). In recent days I've had the unfortunate problem of ending up behind Red Honda Civic.... Man. It happens suddenly and unwillingly each morning. I'll come up to a red light and KABAAM! Red Honda Civic.... Man, is there in waiting! Never knowing how he knows my schedule or my appearance, this sloth ninja appears before me and proceeds to extend the time of my commute by a mean of five minutes each time he drives before me. Worst of all, this charlatan happens to work in the same industrial complex that I do. WHAT ARE THE ODDS?!
So this is my answer and response to the incredulous and cruel Red Honda Civic.... Man.
Ode to "That" Guy
My metal stallion glistens with the morning frost,
And invites me in its cold manner to drive to work.
Reluctantly, I agree and make haste to clear the ice,
But not before a startling thought passes my mind.
'That' Guy is out there this morning undoubtedly.
Meandering through the morning commute traffic,
Slowing down everyone which lay in their wake.
Why must 'That' Guy drive ever so slowly?
I make a right and begin the last leg of my journey,
Over the hills and down the valleys of Cincinnati.
What is that which awaits me at the upcoming light?
It can't be, it shouldn't be, 'That Guy!'
Caught again! What to do trapped behind this criminal?
Should I turn off quickly and hope to beat him around,
Or do I cave and give into the uneasiness of defeat?
Alas, I am not a stronger man and shall follow 'That Guy.'
This has been a public service announcement of "Don't be 'That' Guy." I understand there is a current among you which is saying "What about 'That' Girl?" To that I answer: There never is nor will be one. If in 20 plus years of living has taught me anything, it's to never pit blame on a woman (Guys, we'll meet down at the bar on Friday to address these issues).
Hope everyone is well and adjusting to the cooler temperatures which are beginning to make their presence known to us. Feel free to leave any suggestions, comments or critiques below for me.
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