The Commute, Part One

Monday morning, November 15th, 2004, 6:30 am, in a Midwest city, United States of America. Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz… I awake to the thought “it can't be morning already, it's still pitch black outside�. Fumbling to turn off the obnoxious alarm which I have many times threatened to exchange for something more soothing, I realize, yes, it is another November morning in Minnesota. I have prepared my morning treat of freshly roasted coffee the night before. I roast my own coffee which I buy from u-roast-em.com to ensure my special reward for crawling out of bed is as good as it can get. Golden Valley is on the outskirts of Minneapolis primarily residential and for all practical purposes a very nice community. Just a short hop to the downtown area where I work.

It has snowed a couple inches over night just enough to mess up my car which will need to be cleaned off. I go about brushing off the newly fallen snow and scraping the frost from my windshield while the engine warms up. As I back out my driveway onto Maple Street I notice my next door neighbor John returning from his mailbox with his newspaper. I wave, but he doesn't look in my direction. In fact, he doesn't respond other than slightly raising his hand in my direction without looking up from the newspaper he has clenched in his other hand. Three doors down Maple there is another neighbor scraping the frost off his windows with the “I hate winter� look. I don't know him as he moved in just over a year ago. Neither he nor I make any attempt to acknowledge each other. There is a small group of kids waiting for the school bus on the corner; none of them look up or seem to notice me as I pass by.

I take a right on Normandy Boulevard after stopping at the four way stop. I have never met another car at this corner and wonder why we all have to stop every time for no apparent reason. At the fourth stop sign on Normandy I take a right onto Green Valley road. It is only about five blocks until I can get on Highway 101 but there are 2 stop lights with arrows and the whole nine yards. At the second light I prepare to take a left and go up the ramp onto Highway 101. The guy in front of me must not have noticed the green arrow and I'll have to wait for the next green arrow. He gets it this time and we're heading up the ramp only to run into the metering system which is supposed to regulate traffic and keep us all moving smoothly.

“Form two lanes when metering� the sign clearly states. Everyone is scrambling trying to figure out which lane will get them on the highway first. The next sign makes it clear that: ONLY ONE CAR PER GREEN LIGHT. Yes!!, I picked the correct lane and I'm next in my lane. I feel a steadily escalating anticipation of the green light like a race car driver looking for the green flag. I am gripping the steering wheel as if it were last week's paycheck and not taking my eye off the light which will certainly turn green at any second. The other lane flashes green and away the car next to me roars…wait just a minute, the guy behind him sneaks through as well. JERK! I think as they speed away. Seconds later I get the green and I'm heading up the ramp in high hopes of cruising on the highway.

The newly fallen snow has made the roads wet and messy but not slippery as the maintenance trucks have already put salt down to melt any snow or ice. Of course this kicks all the slop up onto my windshield which requires about a gallon of window washing fluid every 15 minutes. About a quarter of a mile, just before I get to 50 miles an hour I notice the brake lights ahead and begin my slowdown. Within a minute I'm at a complete stop on a three lane highway. This is the Midwest, not Los Angeles. Can it be?

I look over at the car stopped next to me searching for someone to acknowledge our discontent. The woman in the car seems to sense I'm looking her way and pretends to check her makeup in the visor mirror in order to avoid any type of contact. Things bump along for a couple miles to the point where I start down the ramp onto an interstate highway, a main artery into the Loop.

It's moving a little faster but I don't quite get up to 30 miles an hour. I have to merge to the left into the right hand lane but no one is willing to give me the twenty or so feet I need to merge in. I am forced to stop or hit the bridge abutment ahead. Now it's even harder as the traffic on the interstate is moving and I am stopped making for about a 100 foot space required to accelerate into. Things look up as the interstate is also slowing to a near stop. A space, no the guy behind me quickly grabs it up before I can make my move and doesn't let me in ahead of him. The next car sensing some frustration allows me into the lane and away I go on the four lane highway at a blistering 10 miles an hour. As so often it is, suddenly I'm cruising at 60 and things are looking up.

I try to clean my windshield but the fluid has run out and I get only a little spray and dribble which does more harm than good. I'll just wait until my windshield is really wet from all the slop being sprayed on it then hit the wipers quickly to clean it while it is wet.

When the interstate approaches the downtown area, where I work, it narrows to one lane for the traffic heading south. The traffic backs up in the far right lane pretty darn far and moves very slowly because those speeding by in the next two lanes to the left are cutting into that right lane as far up as they can and still accept themselves with their actions. I know the drill and pass about 30 cars, ok maybe more like 40 or even 50, before I pretend to have not known how the system works. I have to kind of force my way into the right lane because by this time, those who have played by the rules are not too happy with us cheaters. I try to rationalize it by thinking I'm late for work and will, no doubt, receive the wrath of co-workers for my tardiness. If only I had a license plate from a neighboring state I could have easily taken another 30 or 40 cars.

There are still cars zipping past me in the immediate left lane with their right turn signals blinking away. Moving at zero to five miles an hour I near the point of no entry for the cheaters who have even less scruples than me. Sure enough one last guy literally sticks his front right bumper between my car and the one about seven feet in front of me. I jam on the breaks and he is in, however, either too embarrassed or non-caring to make ANY type of gesture of appreciation for me not being party to destroying our cars. By this time in my commute I have felt most every negative emotion: neglect, anger, fear, frustration, embarrassment, aggression and guilt as well as humility.

As I head to the 11th street exit I wonder why we all have to go through this every day. I've been on the road for forty minutes now and the 11th street exit is backed up at least a quarter of a mile. Stop and go, stop and go, stop and go, I'll certainly make the next arrow, oh yeah no problem, what? “you idiot!!� I scream at the guy in front of me who seems to have less guts than a jelly fish as he jumps on his brakes to avoid any possibility of catching a little red arrow glow in the corner of his right eye as he rounds the corner. At this point I'm only about 15 minutes late for work. I catch the next green arrow easily and reach my parking garage with no further frustration.

I circle down to my assigned parking space as if the rush hour world going on outside no longer existed. Upon arriving I wonder if the person who parks to the right of me knows the person who parks to the left of me. Perhaps they are on a quest to see who can own the biggest SUV. The parking spaces are clearly marked with painted lines on the cement floor and neither of them is over the line but another inch and they both would be. I am able to squeeze my little Honda Accord in but cannot open the door enough to get both me and my briefcase out at the same time. I think to myself: “I could be making a payment on a Motorcycle, Snowmobile, Boat or 4 wheeler for the $240.00 per month I pay for this space. It is about the furthest space from the elevator and the ramp is not heated. I approach the elevator only to watch the door close even though there is plenty of room for me. Perhaps I'm invisible as no one makes any effort to hold the door for me and away it goes. Seemingly for ever but actually maybe 4 minutes later the elevator remembers me and returns. Not bad, I enter the office a mere 25 minutes late.

No one and I mean no one smiles, says hello or misses the chance to give me “The Look�. The look says: I made it on time even with a little snow, how come you're late. You rode the freak'n bus, you couldn't be late, I think as I walk silently to my office. I sit in my chair and look out the window on the 17th floor. It is still grey out and basically void of color. Time to get to work.

COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!!!, COCK-A-DOODLE-DOO!!!

PLEASE SEE PART TWO

Jim Cameron is a 30 year veteran in the specialty coffee industry. His coffee related travels brought him to Costa Rica many times where he fell in love with a country and it's people. Jim now spends half the year in Costa Rica and the other half in Wisconsin where he sells green coffee beans to the home roasting trade.