Wow, I really hate driving in the city.
I’ve had to drive all around NYC last weekend and today, and both times not only did I come close to hitting someone with the car, I almost got out just to hit someone with a more “personal” touch. There’s just something about the mix of slow pedestrians, taxi drivers, and skinny lanes that just brings my anger level from 1 to 10 really quick.
Last weekend it started when we rented a car to drive up to see Kerblog. It wasn’t a good start when the garage that had about 10 people working only had 2 guys getting cars, and they kept confusing me with another renter. At least it worked out in my favor when they brought out my car first when he had been waiting for over an hour.
We then drove to get a sandwich for the road, then up to the apt, find a place to park, load the luggage, find out the rental car’s elctrical system was too flaky to keep the GPS powered, and make it over to the Triborough bridge. The whole time I was screaming fit of rage. Everyone cut me off. Everyone blocked my turns. Everyone did something that had me screaming.
Funny thing is though, as soon as I made it on to the highway I was mellow as could be. We even hit about an hour and a half of traffic and the whole time I was just content to listen to music and stare at people in cars.
There’s something about driving around these streets that just raises your stress level.
Take this morning.
The girl that Jane watches is going to camp in a few days. Since this it a “fancy” camp, they have a drop off time where you can drop off the kid’s luggage a few days before so they camp has time to get it up there and unpacked before the kids show up. Like I said, “fancy.”
Now they are away this weekend, they asked Jane to pick up the bags (and when I say bags, I mean full size, you could burry a body in it, bags), and bring them to the drop off point. Jane asked me to come along because the bags were heavy, and rather then run around trying to find cabs, we borrowed the family’s car.
Getting the car was easy, but after we got it out of the garage, we had to get it back over to the house, and find a parking spot. Of course there was none. So we blocked a hydrant, ran for the bags, and I pretty much threw my back out getting them in the trunk.
After getting around traffic and getting about 20 blocks up, we made it to the drop off point. For some reason the camp felt that side of 5th Ave would be the best place for a drop off site. Well of course there was no place to park. Alright, well this should only take a few mins, so double-parking and throwing the bags out should be alright, right?
Well, no. See 5th Ave is a bus route. And what lane do the buses go down? That’s right, the one closest to the curb, right where I parked the car. So soon I had about 3 buses behind the car honking and edging up close enough to hit it. So I was forced to chuck out the bags, and jump back in the car to circle around while Jane dealt with a whole bunch of people who felt that they deserved to have their bags loaded first.
I finally made it back around to pick Jane back up, and I headed downtown to drop her off at work.
Cursing, honking, and screaming ensued.
We finally made it down near where Jane works on the weekends, and I pull over a few blocks up so that she can run in to Fourbucks for a cup of tea. I’m parked in a legal spot, but it’s at a multi-meter, meaning I need a ticket from the machine to avoid a ticket. I figure Jane should only be a min, no one should notice. Two mins later I see a meter-maid in my rear-view mirror.
By a stroke of extreme luck she just walks by the car, but by now I’m flipping out. I’m up early on a Saturday (did I mention the camp only picks up bags between 9 and 9:30 in the morning?), forced to drive through the city, and now I’m trying to avoid a ticket.
Finally Jane comes back, and I’m flooring it out of there to drop her off.
Again, the ride back I’m still flipping out, but as soon as I drop the car off and my feet hit the sidewalk, I’m mellow as can be. I grab a cup of iced coffee and a croissant for Oren’s and I practically skip home through the park.
I know NYC gets a bad rep for being a city full of bitchy people, but for the most part people here are helpful and nice. But man, put any of those people in a car and make them drive around, and every one of them would be ready to rip a tourist head off.
I think my NY driver’s license should come with prozac.
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