I've lived in LA for a decade now, so I'm pretty used to bad traffic. Some days, it's worse than bad. The other day, there were accidents all over the freeways for some reason. No, it wasn't raining, or windy, or even overcast, and there hadn't been a series of truck accidents spilling vaseline all over the roads, but you'd think there had. I had a roommate years ago who firmly believed that it was just rude to have an accident on the freeway. (Of course, he also firmly believed it was normal to be in his late 20s, having never held a job in his life, being supported by his parents, and spending all night at strip clubs "trying to understand why the women choose this life.")
What is it about the sight of an accident that turns the brains of other drivers to pancake batter? Why is it necessary to slow to the speed of a squashed slug, craning one's neck to see the crushed cars? If you just drive normally, you would get home and get a better view on the news tonight, and I wouldn't be sitting behind you hoping your red blood cells spontaneously combust, causing your car to burst into flames, shooting you up and over the divider barricade into oncoming traffic, just so you're out of my way. Seriously, people! Even worse when it's on the other side of the freeway. You're not going to get to see a body -- just car blood. It's not that interesting. But people even do it when it's just a car on the shoulder with legs sticking out under it, presumably with a guy trying to fix his car on the fly. (Ok, if he had really been run over by his own car, and was trapped by the tired treads that had plastered his rib cage to the asphalt, I might think you have a reason to look -- but he hasn't, and he's not, so you don't!) Drive, already!!
The Tuscan Child by Rhys Bowen
8 hours ago