MEH: Recession Traffic

It’s only because of my good Baptist guilt that this is not a YAY. Well, that and the fact that I’m just too darn yay-ish lately and I wanted to mix it up. (If I’m honest, that’s probably more of it than the guilt thing, but whatever.)

It’s a universally-held truth that traffic in Los Angeles is the devil. People here like their cars and they like to drive and show them off. Unless one is traveling between downtown and the Valley, public transit options suck. And there are, like, three and a half million people living here. That adds up to a lot of cars on the road.

One of these cars is my beloved Marcie. I live just west of downtown in Silver Lake. I work in Century City. According to the almighty Google Maps, it’s approximately 9.4 miles from my house to my office building, which in normal times takes between 45 minute and one hour.

Not anymore.

My average commute takes less than half an hour. That’s taking Beverly. That’s taking Sixth Street. That’s taking Olympic. And that’s taking the westbound 10, which very rarely backs up until La Brea now. (Before, you could count on jamming starting around Western and not clearing up until right around National and Overland.) I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t enjoy not having to leave my house until 9 a.m. in the morning. I’m able to make myself breakfast, check my e-mail, and take my time trying to prettify myself.

But what is not cool about this abbreviated commute time is the reason. Recession is the reason for this season – and recession ain’t cool, people. I know the reason I’m able to get to work quickly is because, like, ten percent of Los Angeles’ workforce is without a job. Luckily, I feel pretty secure in my job (knock on Formica or whatever my desk is made out of), so I don’t think I’m going to be part of that population any time soon. But the possibility scares the h-e-double-hockey-sticks out of me.

Losing my job means a very good chance that I have to move back to Texas. Texas knows I love it. My people in Texas know I love them. But I do not want to go back. I’m not ready. I’m not ready to leave my roomies and the Chinese take-out in those cute little white containers that you see on TV and homemade Stanley Cups and general dorkiness/nerdiness/geekiness. I’m not ready to leave my friends and pub trivia and the giant falafel mural in Echo Park. I’m not ready to give up the dream. I want to be able to stay here to feel like I’m beating my head against a brick wall as I submit resume after resume to shows. I want to go to little non-Starbucks coffee shops under the guise of writing just to feel cool and city chic and all that. I love my family so much it hurts, but I am not jumping up and down at the prospect of becoming our own little version of The Waltons.

Wow. I could almost make this one a NAY. Except for the fact that I love sleep and that extra fifteen minutes I’m now getting makes me a far less cranky person than I would be otherwise. And less crankiness is always a YAY. According to the Mythagorean Theorem, (NAY+ YAY) ÷ 2 = MEH.

In short, y’all stay safe and employed out there. I’ll be thinking of you as I’m gliding along to work in the morning.