There are many wonderful elements to big-city life. In a city like Seattle, you can find a latté stand on every corner, record stores that stay open until midnight, and people dancing through the streets, ready to burst with the sheer happiness of living in a city with a really large annual rainfall.

Traffic is not one of these elements. Traffic inspires joy in no-one's heart. Traffic is the bane of big city existence.

You can't escape it either. You may think, "Hah, I'm a pedestrian, no rush hour problems for me! Die, petroleum-burning gooberhead." But, really, you're only deluding yourself. You've obviously forgotten all the times you've nearly become a living hood ornament while innocently walking across a crosswalk.

The first thing I noticed about Seattle traffic when I drove from Spokane that first time was the heightened chance of mangling and icky death. Suddenly, freeways, instead of being nice expanses of roadway where everyone could covet and hold their own personal space, became immense concrete and asphalt battlefields where no rules were honored, no quarter was given, and you'd be lucky to change lanes without the express written permission of every driver on the road that day.

Seattle was the first place where I really came across the "merge or die" system. This is the one where you're driving happily along in your lane going 55 mph as prescribed by state law, when a friendly little sign comes up warning you that your lane will end in 35 feet. This would be fine if you could depend upon the mercy of other driver's on the road, but forget it. There is no such thing as mercy in this town. Lane changes are for the weak. "I'm better off killing you than letting you in my lane" is the unofficial motto of I-5.

I don't blame Seattle-ites for driving this way. Really, if I'd had to learn to drive around here I'd be slightly insane too. I'm talking about that M.C. Escher Moebius-strip that passes for a downtown street system. I'm not sure what demented goon designed it, but I hope he's residing in a hell composed of his own making. Preferably one with as many one-way streets and no-left signs as possible.

And if it weren't bad enough just trying to find your way around downtown, trying to remember which phase of the moon it has to be to turn across traffic on Stewart, there's also the problem of parking. I'm not sure when Seattle adopted the "First born for fifteen minutes" parking rate, but it certainly has deterred me from ever parking downtown.

Downtown isn't the only area with problem parking. God forbid you should ever actually want to park on the UW campus. I went into the visitor's lot under Montlake to drop someone off at their car, and they wanted to charge me $4.50 for the first 15 minutes of parking. $4.50! Yeah, as if tuition isn't a gouge and a half already, they want to charge me an entire lunch for 15 minutes of parking. Now, if it was valet parking, if I was escorted from my car by an interesting woman who engaged me in delightful conversation, if I was given a little mint on my car seat when I returned, then it would be worth $4.50. As it is, I can only imagine a place where it would be worth it to park at $4.50 for 15 minutes.

Meter persons (pc, pc, pc for me!) are also just a joy. I once parked on Brooklyn for 5 minutes. I went in to a store to get some change for the meter. I had dimes, but this meter only ate quarters. While I was waiting for the guy ahead of me, who was apparently regaling the cashier with tales of his life from the birth canal on up, some sneaky meter person carefully crept up to my car, ticketed me and escaped, undetected. Officer Scribble was amazingly quick and efficient. I can only imagine how quickly this city would be cleaned up if it were decided that busting drug dealers and other actual criminals was as important as ticketing people without correct change.

I think my favorite people on the roadways these days are people who never use their turn signals. Let's just say their numbers would be significantly fewer if I had that hood-mounted bazooka I've always wanted. No, let's say more: Do you think that little lever is just a toy? Do you think it was put in to keep you company on lonely nights? Well, it wasn't. It was put there by people who wanted to be warned about what the other people on the road think they're doing. We'd like to know when you're planning on making a turn without slowing down so that we can avoid scraping you out from under our fenders' later on. And don't think that you can fool us by shifting lanes really quickly. We know you didn't use the signal. They say the meek shall inherit the Earth, but I think it'll be the people who actually bothered to use their turn signals.

Speaking of sneaky people on the road, there's the damn bicyclists. One of the favorite moves I've seen them pull is the one where they ride on the road like they're supposed to when it's convenient, but then ride on the sidewalks, mowing down pedestrians, when the road gets too busy. But really, wherever they go, they're pretty damn annoying. When you're in a car, the meathead on the bike always decides it's a good time to pedal very leisurely. When you're on foot, they decide to run you over.

Bicyclists are well known for their total lack of respect for pedestrian life-forms. "Hah! I'm on a bicycle, I am a God!!" *Thwack* "Out of my way, puny pedestrian mortal. Feel my spandex-powered wrath." A friend of mine suggested that they should be forced to put playing cards in their spokes as a sort of early warning system for people who don't like tire tracks on their ankles. I don't think that goes far enough, I think they should be forced to wear cow bells around their necks and bright orange T-shirts saying "Warning! I'm a vicious bastard who'd run you down without thinking twice about it."

The worst part about Seattle traffic is I-5 at rush hour. This inaptly-named time is responsible for more frustration than all Microsoft products combined. It belabors the obvious to point out that it is neither rushing nor does it last an hour. What is worth noting is that without it, several traffic reporters and helicopter pilots would be out of jobs.

I guess that's the price we pay for being here. And it's not a bad price to pay, given all the benefits. Next time I'm out with a group of neighbors, dancing in the streets, latté and late-night cd purchase in hand, rain pouring down, I'll remember to give a silent thanks that I'm not stuck in traffic with only my car's owner's manual to read, or sitting at a plastic surgeon's, paying through the nose for collagen injections to remove the tread marks from my calves.

Copyright © 1994 by Robert T. Bakie