traffic schmaffic

latraffic
Originally uploaded by ehiggin.

Upon first moving to Los Angeles, one thing that struck me was the local attitude about traffic. Most complained about it being the worst in the world, and they hated driving anywhere. True, there are a lot of cars on the road. And, I suppose some people consistently get stuck in traffic on their work commutes. I, however, never really encountered bad traffic.

Except once.

I used to work late hours at Universal, and I was sometimes exhausted in the summer schedule, getting home at 1 or 2 in the morning. On one such morning, I was not feeling particularly "up to speed." When I got home from work, I lugged my achey body upstairs to the bedroom, and took a hefty chug of nighttime cold medicine. If you know anything about nighttime cold medicine, you know that it pretty much knocks you unconscience for at least eight solid hours. So, after my medicinal dose, I laid my frail body down on my wonderful soft bed. I drifted away into a blissful drug-induced sleep, and it was beautiful.

In the early morning hours, before the world is awake, around 5:30 or 6:00, I have a vague and dream-like recollection of my roommate Doug barging into our shared bedroom. Being halfway in another deminsion, I can barely recall him frantically explaining to me that he had driven our mutual roommate, Andy, to the Burbank airport. Andy was supposed to leave that day to get home to his family for a week or so. Doug explained that they had gotten their a couple minutes late, so Andy's seat on the flight had been given away. If you're familiar with Los Angeles airport ritual, it should come as no surprise. So, in desperation, Doug asked me if I could go get Andy from the airport.

Groggily turning my cell phone on, I heard about three desperate messages from Andy, at the airport, explaining how everyone else he knew was either out of town, or at work. So, I was the only human on the earth who was available to come get him at the airport. Laying in my warm fuzzy bed, in the dark hours of the early morning, exhausted and sedated on cold medicine, I reluctantly agreed to come get him at the airport.

Dragging my bones out of the sheets, I drearily clothed myself and draped a hat over my messy head. I couldn't believe I was awake, much less driving to the airport! The Burbank airport was a good fifteen to twenty minutes away. I drove their in the cool morning air, meeting a grateful Andy at the airport pick-up place. Climbing into the hatchback, he explained that the airport explained to him that there was one chance for him to catch a flight. In two hours, a flight to Seattle was leaving,...in Orange County.

Orange County is a solid 45 minute drive, through the heart of Los Angeles morning rush hour traffic. But, out of love and devotion to my roommate, I did it. I drove there. And 45 minutes back, which actually took nearly two hours because of the traffic. I mean, it was like a parking lot driving up the 405. It could've been the 101. They were both terrible that morning.
But, Andy made his flight. We were both thankful for that.

When I got back to the apartment, I crashed happily on my bed and sank back into my slumber.