in honour of Earth Day

Today started off as one of the saddest Earth Days on record, as I spent over 90 minutes sitting in traffic, attempting to cover the 33.5 km (20.8 mi) that separate my home from the office of the guy who does my taxes. According to Google, it should take approximately 27 minutes. Um. Not.

I know I'm lucky to currently work very close to home. But even when I worked in Old Montreal, I used to take the train. So, I get stuck in traffic maybe three times a year, notwithstanding post-Bell Centre event parking nightmares. It never fails to amaze me that people subject themselves to such aggravation on a daily basis, twice a day. I understand that some people need their car to work; hey, hats off to you - I did it for three months, and I was miserable. And some others work in areas that just aren't properly served.

But I've seen coworkers, often the harried kind for whom there are never enough hours in a day, complain that it takes too long. On good days, they beat me by ten minutes. On bad days, their commute takes two hours to my 45 minutes. During which, I might add, I can read, sleep, daydream, look at the scenery or work on a laptop while they can only stare blankly at the bumper of the minivan before them. I'd also be curious to measure and compare our relative heart rates and stress levels. This morning, by the time I got back to the office, my empty stomach was in knots, my patience was at an end, and my voice was just a little shrill.

Is public transit perfect? Of course not. Between the occasionally smelly seatmate, the gaggle of obnoxious teenagers and the last-minute-means-standing-room-only of trains/buses, cars can beckon as a personal bubble of calm. With public transportation, you have to bend to their schedule, which flies against every convention of our I-want-it-all-and-I-want-it-now consumer society.

But to those who say that a car is the ultimate symbol of freedom, I say:

The next time you're trapped in your beige minivan, boxed in by nine other beige minivans,
(oh sorry, it's light sandstone metallic)
The next time you cut short a conversation or slink out of a meeting because your meter has run out,
(isn't beating a parking ticket thrilling?)
The next time you spend everything in your wallet and the fuel gauge needle barely moves
(yes, they are laughing at you, all the way to the bank)
The next time you're short of breath on a smoggy day,
(when the weather can only be described as yellow)
Ask yourself
Are you really free?

Sunday, in six: Patchwork patterns thrill my mind's eye.

Monday: That was not worth three hours.

Monday (alternate): Go Habs Go! Bring on the...

Tuesday: Stuck in traffic - murderous urges arise.

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