Apr 27, 2018 3 min read

All my life, I’ve been lucky about traffic. Working from home tends to keep a girl out of traffic jams, as well as out of proper work clothing. That’s been my life for as long as my kids have been around.

But as they’ve grown up and moved forward, I’m moving out of the work-at-home stage and into the real world. Several days a week, I go to an actual office and sit at a desk (with a window!) where I produce and write documentaries.

The first week brought some disturbing revelations, most notably that I really need that little afternoon nap. I’ve treated myself to a quick afternoon nap – OK, sometimes not so quick – for years now. And that doesn’t fly at the office.

But more distressing has been the drive home. Twice now, I’ve left work during some vexed vortex of time at which 90 percent of the drivers on my side of town head for the North Hills. Most recently, I left Oakland at 5:15 and sat in traffic waiting to get onto a parkway for 45 minutes. A whole hungry and cranky line of us crept along at the rate of one yard per five minutes.

It took me more than 90 minutes to get home.

In the morning, the trip in to work takes about 30 minutes. It helps that I can wait until after morning rush hour to go. It’s nice not wasting the time getting there.

But I’d like a little bit of balance. Is it too much to ask for a little bit of traffic when I need it?

This is about texting and driving or, in my case, not texting ever while I drive. Sitting in those traffic jams, I see into others’ cars and find that at least half the drivers have one hand on the wheel (if that) and the other hand poking away at a phone. There are a lot of knee-steerers out there among us.

This week I sat in a jam, without moving, for 10 minutes and never received a text or felt the need to send one. I had two hands free, and no reason to take my hands off the wheel.

In the mornings, I’ve got the reverse problem. While driving on the interstate I’ll hear my phone ding-donging away with messages that I can’t read until I’ve come to a stop.

“There’s a light coming up, and I always get the red,” I tell myself. “I’ll stop and read there.” But no.

That morning, six messages came in about fairly important matters that could have used my immediate attention. And that was the one morning I sailed from driveway to office parking lot without stopping except for stop signs, and you shouldn’t text there. It was free sailing all the way. Never have I been so irritated by a green light.

Where was the traffic jam when I needed one?

But going home that evening, I couldn’t get a break – there were brake lights for miles. I inched along as my stomach grumbled. Is this what it’s like to live and work around L.A., or the Capital Beltway?

You can have it. I’ll stay home and take a nap.

Beth Dolinar can be reached at cootiej@aol.com.