You’re pinned in and stuck. The semi-truck ahead of you, which seemed so promising a few minutes before when he jerked over into this lane, forcing the car in front of you to slam on his brakes, is now driving the exact same speed as the semi-truck beside you. Now, he could have stayed behind the semi-truck to your right and driven this same speed, but he chose to take his show into the left lane and slow it down instead. He can pull over, but he won’t. The car in front of you could probably pull over too, but it’s a tight fit, so he’s playing it safe. Either the guy in front of you will get bold and finally pull over, only for the semi-truck in front on him to decide to do the same at that exact moment, or you’ll have to slow down and risk greeting the guy behind you when he slides up into your passenger seat. So, you wait…and wait…and wait.
I call the feeling in this moment “carstrophobia.” It’s a fear of being confined in a tight space in your car, and it gives me a lot of anxiety. I want out. I want freedom. I want to see open freeway ahead of me. It’s usually at this moment that I’ll execute my best vehicular maneuvers, like sliding under a semi-truck or using the emergency brake to execute a perfect spin onto the shoulder and around behind the car to my rear. Once free, I’ll gun it to get away. I’ll swim free of the pod and go rogue. I don’t care if I get eaten by a whale, because I’m a krill moving up the food chain! The vastness of the ocean doesn’t scare me. Carstrophobia does!
