One more reason I'm going to hell

Yesterday was a blast! The 32 kilometer drive from the office was a breeze, taking only 20 minutes or so, cruising along the expressway. Then, the "blast" ended, and I got stuck in bumper to bumper traffic for the next 4 kilometers, for the whole of 3 hours. I tell you, it wasn't fun.

At first I thought, Hey, I'm close enough, what's a little crawl through the city? Then the first 30 minutes pass (or 200 meters, whichever you prefer), and I'm drowning in the irony of it all. I roll down my window and light up. After the first few puffs, the sky opened up and the rain fell, so much for a cigarette break.

Finally, I see the on-ramp to the main avenue which was the shortest distance to home. There should have been relief, this was after all a 5-lane highway, right? Of course, nothing was going to be easy, as the usually 2 lane on-ramp was suddenly transformed into a 3-lane parking lot. So I go the longer route, taking on an extra 3 kilometers, which took me another couple of hours to navigate.

Needless to say, the minute I got home, the bottle of whisky looked mighty fine.

*****

As proof of my being a self-absorbed jackass, I texted a friend of mine about my miserable 3-hour ordeal that night, and when I learned that my friend was also stuck in traffic for the same amount of time through the same distance, I felt all the more bitter about it. No, this wasn't empathy, this was a case of feeling miserable for not being "the guy" who had the unique experience of suffering great odds and made it.

A bit vague? Well, let me put it this way, I'm the guy who would have felt miserable for not being the only hero honored with the Purple Heart. Yes, that is just how much of a sick, attention-seeking prick I am.

Here's how my twisted mind thought things would go: I'd text about what horrible injustices had just been done on my person by this evil, evil world, and my friend would feel terrible about it and heap praises upon me for putting up such a valiant fight and succeeding in the end. Facebook status updates would be put up on my behalf, the poets would draw inspiration from my victorious march into battle, and editorials would be written demanding that justice be given me for having to endure all this pain and suffering. They'd probably even rename the North Star for me, or maybe the Moon? Sailors from all across the oceans would look up in the sky and be guided by my name. Yes, all that ran through my psychotic little head as I fingered in that fateful text message.

Now that's vanity for you.