My Invisible TV

On its own, stop-and-go rush hour traffic is bad enough. That combined with an unrelenting summer heat wave, no AC, and a broken radio is nothing short of pure torture. Gas, brake, wait. Sigh.

With all of the car windows down as far as they can go, there's really nothing else to do except sit here stewing in my own juices and entertain myself with the human dramas occurring around me.

The vehicle directly in front of me is a late-model minivan with out-of-state plates. A family of four sits inside. Obviously on vacation, by the looks of their over-packed trunk. On the one hand, I envy the the artificial freon breeze that is likely circulating inside. On the other hand, the children -- one is definitely younger than 10, the other around 13 or 14 -- seeming to have devised their own game. It's a mixture of what looks like the classic "Punch Buggy" and "Simon Says". Although, I can't hear their actual words, I can tell that it's loud. And testing every bit of their parent's willpower not to murder their offspring.

*Zap*

I turn to my left upon hearing a pounding bass sound eminating from the car next to me. The driver, oblivious to the traffic jam and other cars all around her, is holding her own private sit-down dance party. She alternately puts one hand in front of the other in a motion that makes it look like she's pulling a rope or a cart of some kind. Sounds like that YOLO Drake song, but I can't be sure...

*Zap*

The driver on my right looks to be suffering just as much as I am, if not worse. The windows of his ancient pickup don't even go down all the way. I can nevertheless hear strains of the local news and traffic report coming from his radio. Bottleneck approaching due to a freeway accident less than a mile away. Traffic may be backed up at least 5 miles behind us, but we're almost through the worst of it. We exchange weary glances. Solidarity, my sweat-covered comrade.

*Zap*

A peek in my rear-view mirror reveals a driver applying (or re-applying) make up. Could be worse, I suppose. Still, I could probably make money hand over fist, if I could invent a product that allows women to apply make up in the car, without sacrificing safety...or fashion. I imagine it would be some type of mask-like contraption. You'd have to choose the makeup combinations in advance, but then you could just put it on your face and drive. Set it and forget it, as the great Ron Popeil always says.

Money, hand over fist...maybe that's the name of the dance that the woman was doing.

I sit forward in the driver's seat and rest my forehead on the steering wheel. The air around me is so thick; it's the kind of heat that makes you feel like you're somehow outside of yourself. I put my car into park and close my eyes for the briefest of moments.

*HONK*

Jolted awake, it takes a microsecond for me to recall my surroundings. Minivan family and YOLO are already gone. Comrade Pickup has already merged in front of me. Set-It-And-Forget-It is the likely honking culprit.

I glare back at her through my rearview, put the car into drive and start rolling forward.