Faith In Humanity Restored In Gridlock

An incredible thing happened Thursday morning.

I was heading to work, making my way through that darned road construction we all love to hate. My right hand was poised on the horn. My eyes peered around for the crazy, inconsiderate drivers we’ve all complained about.

I was ready for gridlock.

And for battle.

I knew I-90 would be a mess. Up ahead, a row of orange highway cones was squeezing the three lanes of traffic into a single, angry, slow-moving snake. I flipped on my signal light and braced myself for a difficult merge.

What happened next warmed my heart.

The woman in the white Lumina - can you believe this? - happily let me in.

And that wasn’t all. I watched with amazement as most of the drivers around me signaled their intentions to merge or turn. They slowed down so other cars could squeeze in front of them. One man even gave me a “thank you” wave.

I felt like I was in traffic heaven, even if I was puttering along at 15 mph.

I knew, because last week I was in hell.

It’s called New York City, and everyone who’s livid about I-90 congestion, disgruntled about bad drivers and generally stressed out about life here in the Spokane Valley should spend a few days there. Just take a rental car - with excellent collision insurance, of course - and see how bad it can get.

That’s what my husband and I did last week - against the advice of several friends and relatives. We spent two days in Manhattan, dodging cabbies, watch peddlers and pedestrians with a death wish. We were quite a team. He drove. I screamed “WATCH OUT!” about 10,000 times.

Two days in Manhattan taught us several new lessons about driving. For example, you’re not truly being tailed until you’re being pushed. Signaling isn’t necessary before cutting someone off. And if cars are parallel parked too close to you, simply bang into them until they move enough to let you out. (Actually, we learned this one in Washington, D.C.) Most important, we learned that there’s really no such thing as right of way.

In New York City, there’s only guts.

And lots of honking.

Thanks to the experience, we returned home Wednesday with a new perspective. And a new appreciation for the very things Valley residents so often gripe about.

We’ve learned to appreciate the little things that don’t happen here.

Not one person has honked at me since I’ve returned to the Valley. Not one pedestrian has tried to commit suicide with my car.

I’ve sat in traffic, but not for two hours just to get over a bridge. And no one has tried to charge me a $4 toll for the experience.

Sure, we have some congestion here. And we have some terrible drivers.

But most of them, most of the time, are actually pretty good.

Every time my car has conked out in the Valley, someone has stopped to help me. Twice, when I was simply checking the oil, people have come by to see if something was wrong. And just last month, several good Samaritan drivers came to the rescue at a malfunctioning railroad gate at Argonne Road and Euclid Avenue. When the gate blocked traffic for more than an hour, helpful motorists pulled the bars up by hand and held them open so other drivers could pass through.

I didn’t think much about it when I first read the story. I wasn’t really impressed.

I guess sometimes you have to leave home to appreciate what you’ve got.

Sometimes you have to take a drive in New York.