We’ve all been there. It’s Friday afternoon and all you want to do is get home, but the four mile long tailback on the motorway is telling you otherwise.
It’s times like these when you start to wonder why you ever bothered with your driving test in the first place. After all, you spend more time sat stationary than you do actually using your driving skills.
For all of you car commuters out there, and everyone who’s sat in that Bank Holiday motorway queue: here is our break down of the stages of being stuck in a jam. Do let us know if you can relate…
Blame the government
Bloody road works. Blood temporary traffic lights. What’s this country coming to?
We identify this as the first stage of jam-rage.
You suddenly notice everything that’s wrong with the roads of Britain. Speed limits are too low, there are too many pot holes and there aren’t enough measures in place to control those infamous Middle-Lane Hoggers. If you were Prime Minister, none of this would be a problem…
Blame everyone else
If people planned ahead and got into the right lane without leaving it to the last minute, there wouldn’t be all of these delays at junctions. And there’s always one idiot who cuts you up at the very last minute.
And then there’s the pedestrians. You sit at a red light at an empty crossing for what feels like an age. Then, as soon as the light turns to green, a horde of dawdling pedestrians decide to hurry across.
By the time the lady on the phone pushing the pram has reached the kerb, the lights have turned to red again. This is why you should just get on the train…
There’s always one who cruises up the hard shoulder then tries to squeeze in front of you at the last moment. As well as displaying some sort of serious manhood complex, this means that the poor fools behind you have to wait in line even longer while he squeezes precariously around you, only to hold everyone else up as he heads straight into the fast lane.
An accumulation of this – along with the 50mph motorway drivers and the idiots who keep changing lanes at the roundabout – means that by the time you get home, you’re ready to scream at the first unassuming person who crosses your path. Our advice: don’t.
This is the stage where you start to ponder whether you could realistically drink your own urine.
The best of us will have kept some form of chocolate aside in the glove box. If you’re lucky enough to have a stray KitKat lying about, this is where you get to enjoy the slightly stale, melted goodness after six months of festering.
The sod it stage. The stage where you’ve been sat in a jam for so long that mounting the pavement seems entirely plausible. Surely you can’t be the only one considering it?
If you edged up that grass verge slightly, you could skirt around the car in front (God knows what he’s doing) and make your way up the slip road to the nearest exit. You didn’t buy your 4×4 to just sit in traffic, after all…