A Houston newbie shares tips, tribulations about traffic
My little gray Mazda careens around a sharp curve in the freeway, traffic thick, fast and unforgiving.
I’m on I-10 or I-610, going 40 or 140 miles an hour, headed straight toward death or the Houston Chronicle office, whichever comes first. My eyes bulge like softballs. My eyebrows shoot to my hairline. My gaping mouth is stuck in a silent scream.
It is my first foray into the city’s thicket of highways. I don’t know where I am or where I’m going. All I know is that the car in front of me is not playing and the car behind me is not playing and I definitely am not playing because all I want to do is get out of here. Wherever here is.
This is Houston traffic for a newbie.
Every city complains about its traffic. Drivers are too slow, too fast, too stupid. I’m from Austin. The traffic is so different, it’s almost impossible to compare. If Houston is an F1 racetrack, Austin’s I-35 is a parking deck. Inch forward 2 inches, stop. Three inches, stop. Repeat. Repeat.
As I temporarily commute between these two cities for my new job at the newspaper, I am morphing from sloth to gladiator. There will be no singing songs from Hamilton and casually munching on strawberry Pop-Tarts as I navigate these mean streets.
This is chaos. You make your own rules out there and I have a few of my own.
Gentle aggression. This is best used while merging into the 350-car line onto the freeway. Step one, blinker on. Step two, slowly edge the nose of your car into the desired lane. Pause as the white SUV ignores you. Pause as the vomit-green Chevy speeds up to cut you off. Then commit. I’m willing to play this slow-motion game of chicken. I drive a 2014 Mazda 2 with a broken passenger side mirror and scratches galore. What are you driving? Are you willing to live with a dent in your door? I am.
Aggression aggression. This move demands your full attention. Example.
You need to cross five lanes to get to your exit because, once again, your lying GPS frenemy told you to stay in the three left lanes when you actually need to be in the far right one. You see an opening. Look around, use your mirrors, listen for the roar of other aggressors. Then go. Watch for oncoming cars behind and beside you. Do not plow into the vehicle that has suddenly stopped. Keep going until you finally roll onto the off-ramp with the rosy glow of success and terror.
Rage repression. We are in the land of open carry, concealed carry, carry on your car seat, whatever. There is almost nothing worth getting shot over. But it’s hard not to feed our fury. We’re tired. We’re hangry. And some jerk just pulled aggression aggression on you. Do not descend into madness. No flipping the bird, no screaming, no laying on the horn and NO EYE CONTACT. Your mission is to survive. You know how long it’s going to take to get home if someone chases you through traffic, jumps out of their truck and comes after you with a hammer they just happened to have in the glove compartment? Smother your wrath. It’s worth it.
Car Karma. Be kind. Give people space. Let them merge. It’s so rare that people can’t comprehend it. I’ve kept three car lengths open in front of me, motioned for other drivers to merge and they still won’t do it. You can see the confusion on their faces. Is this a trick? A trap? Better to cut in front of you later. No worries. Smile. Wave. Imagine yourself at home, lying on the couch while eating Tostitos and watching back-to-back episodes of the original Law and Order.
That’s what I imagined during my first foray into Houston traffic. I lived to fight another day. And I continue to imagine a time when I can drive through the city without bulging eyes, raised eyebrows and a gaping mouth stuck in a silent scream.
Hope springs eternal, even on the interstate.