L.A. Drove Him to Distraction

After driving from North Hollywood to work in downtown L.A. for the first time in 30 days, I have concluded that I cannot, will not and refuse to commute to work during the business week on the concrete veins of this city during the now infamous “rush hours.”

How amazing and appalling are my fellow Angelenos! How anxiety-infused and stress-diseased are we? Why the idiocy driving attacks? The Grand Prix mode at all times? The cutting, the chasing, the harassment, the road lunacy?

There is no doubt that we have become addicted to speed and technology. We’re no different than a heroin addict. We get high on high-speed access, fast food, fast service, express lanes, carpool lanes, and getting to a place now, now, now! Cell phones, DSL, phones with Internet access, wireless earpieces, satellites and laptops; a digital and electronic fix anyone?

Whatever happened to pedestrians having the right of way, yielding, courtesy, patience, reason and common sense? The concept escapes us the minute we get behind the wheel of our race car, we’re metamorphosed into Indy 500 speed-racers with only one final destination in mind.

Angelenos behind the wheel turn into desensitized driving machines, immune to their surroundings. This infatuation with “getting there now” is like a terrible drug, one which dilates our senses and stimulates our most aggressive and insane behaviors.

Why the rush? Why the stress? Want a cure? Want a treatment? I’ve got one for you. It’s called MTA. Its healing and addiction-reduction powers are amazing. I’ve been on this recovery transportation program for a month, and it really works; actually, it seems to be working for a lot of people. I wonder if there are any support groups or a Former L.A. Drivers Anonymous?

I had cut my driving time from one hour to 30 minutes when I stopped using the 101 and discovered the L.A. Zoo Drive, which lately is just as bad as the 5 freeway.

With the Metro Red Line I have gone from a 30-minute driving nightmare to a 20-minute record time heavenly bliss from North Hollywood to the Wilshire/Vermont station, where my office is located.

I have cut my stress levels and reduced my $75 monthly gas bill to a $42 monthly pass. I am able to actually talk to strangers sharing in the subway experience, and I can read the newspaper.

I can proudly say that I am a recovered L.A. driver; a survivor of the madness of a traffic-plagued metropolis, which offers no signs of automobile reduction or sanity requirements for drivers in the near future.