Hi Ho, Ho Ho, It's Off On A Long Ride To Work We Go
by Mad Dog

   It also means I can wake up late, work at midnight if the moods strikes me, and run errands during the afternoon while telling myself I’m not procrastinating when of course I am. But perhaps best of all, it means my commute to work involves walking twenty feet with a cup of coffee in my hand trying not to trip over any empty pizza boxes.

   It certainly beats the 51 minutes a day the average person in the U.S. spends commuting to work. That’s 221 hours a year, or 9.2 days. To put it in perspective, that’s about nine days longer than most of the new fall TV shows deserve to be on the air. This a lot of time spent sitting in a car, bus, or commuter train. And since it’s an average, that means there are people who spend several hours commuting every day in order to make up for my 12.45 seconds. Thirteen on a day when there are more pizza boxes littering the floor than usual. That’s why I have an unlisted telephone number—I don’t want any of those people coming after me complaining that there’s an unequal distribution of commute times. Hey, this is America, the Declaration of Independence says nothing about us having an inalienable right to sleep in a little longer. I just happen to have been smart enough to pick a career that lets me do it. And don’t mind being broke.

   Commuting does have a positive side. For one, it gives you a chance to become more cultured by listening to National Public Radio, picturing how the hottie in the car next to you would look as a nude classical Greek statue, and listening to books on tape, especially long ones that take up lots of boring commute time like Robin Williams’ rendition of War and Peace, which would undoubtedly sell more if they released it as Good Morning St. Petersburg.

   The truth is, if properly channeled, the commute can be a good outlet for releasing your aggressions. It’s much better to take them out on the driver who just zipped past you on the shoulder when you’ve been at a standstill for the last 27 minutes (not that anyone’s counting) rather than bottling it up until you get home where you might take it out on your spouse, dog, or prized baseball bobblehead collection. The key of course is to let it out properly. Yelling loudly, making universally recognized hand motions, and griping to Robin Williams’ voice while he’s playing the part of Natasha Rostov—trying to disregard that he sounds an awful lot like Mrs. Doubtfire—are all good methods. Reloading your Stinger missile launcher, getting out of the car and doing your best Charles Bronson imitation, and making the offending driver watch a reality TV show featuring Anna Nicole Smith aren’t.

   Wisely, most people make good use of their commute by saving time. It’s called multi-tasking. They talk on their cell phone, eat an unsquare meal, put on their make-up (mostly women), and remove offending things from their nose, usually at the same time. This is good because, like it or not, commuting is a fact of life. Well, unless you’re a musician, poet, artist, homeless person, unemployed, or freelance writer. Please don’t hate us because we can sleep later than you can.

©2002 Mad Dog Productions, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
These columns appear in better newspapers across the country. Read them while sitting in your car on the way to work.