This morning I was heading across the Howard Frankland into the trusty ol’ CL Tampa offices when I found myself engaging in a fantasy sequence whereby I made a quick u-turn at the next exit and headed down to Big Pine Key, where I worked for the Citizen and wrote books and my husband ran the local Sea Tow franchise.
This all derailed when I realized the next exit was the Veterans, and not even the Florida Keys is worth braving that shit at 9 a.m.
Point is, driving 275 from St. Pete to Tampa is… mentally exhausting. On the days where I can’t time my drive to avoid the bulk of the traffic, my brain overflows with things I’d like to Tweet if I were stupid enough to pick up my phone while I was driving. Here’s a sampling:
I’m going 75, and a Porsche swerves out from behind me, passes on the right, swerves back in front of me and has to hit the brakes because the car in front of him is also only going 75: Nice car. Sorry about your penis.
Just past the 22nd Ave. N. exit heading south: The left two lanes are left exits every damn day, people. Every. Damn. Day. If you’re shocked by this you should not be operating a motor vehicle.
After a five-minute slowdown because there’s a disabled vehicle in the emergency lane — of oncoming traffic: It’s not in our lane. It’s not even on our side of the road. The accident is almost a whole count over. WTF is wrong with you people?
