Rhode Island! The Musical
One of my favorite George Carlin routines is about doctors. To paraphrase, somewhere in the world is the world's worst doctor. And the scary thing is, someone has an appointment with him at 2:00.
He's right. Somewhere in the world, there is a doctor who is worse than all of the others. In a finite universe, everything can be quantified and ranked. Which brings us to Rhode Island.
Early on in my residency here, it aggravated me immensely that the drivers seemed to be moving at about half the speed that you would move at if you actually wanted to, say, get somewhere. Forty on the highway. Twenty on the street. Right turns that take an entire fiscal year.
When I got to my brother's place, I launched into what was going to be a Homeric-length complaint about the drivers in this town. He stopped me about three sentences in.
"You've been bitching about the drivers in LA for ten years. You bitch about them there, and now you bitch about them here. You can't complain about the drivers here. You've only been here three days."
Too true. Well, now I've been here 10 days. These people should not be allowed to drive.
Never mind that I watched a man die just trying to get onto a highway here. In the past three days, I've seen the aftermaths of no fewer than seven accidents on the roads here. Keep in mind that, not having a clue of where I am, I have exactly three routes--to work, to my apartment, and to my brother and sister-in-law's place. That's it. Fifteen miles of road, three days, seven accidents, one fatality.
Now I realize it--just like the doctor in Carlin's routine, the drivers in Rhode Island are the worst in the world, and I have an appointment with them every day for the next six months. We're not talking about defensive driving anymore, we're talking justified paranoia.
No more changing radio stations, no more sodas. I can no longer assume that everyone on the road has the same overly-aggressive disregard for life that I have on the highways--that's Massachusetts. No, these people have no regard for anything at all. Imagine a Broadway show where every single person on stage is doing their own special dance, with no sense of where anything else on stage is. That's Rhode Island.
When I first drove in New York City, I jockeyed for position with all the cab drivers and thought to myself, "Finally. Some worthy opponents." They were the best in the world at what they did, and that was getting from point A to point B. These people are feebs.
That's it for now. I have to go to work early in the morning. It's four miles away. Wish me luck.
He's right. Somewhere in the world, there is a doctor who is worse than all of the others. In a finite universe, everything can be quantified and ranked. Which brings us to Rhode Island.
Early on in my residency here, it aggravated me immensely that the drivers seemed to be moving at about half the speed that you would move at if you actually wanted to, say, get somewhere. Forty on the highway. Twenty on the street. Right turns that take an entire fiscal year.
When I got to my brother's place, I launched into what was going to be a Homeric-length complaint about the drivers in this town. He stopped me about three sentences in.
"You've been bitching about the drivers in LA for ten years. You bitch about them there, and now you bitch about them here. You can't complain about the drivers here. You've only been here three days."
Too true. Well, now I've been here 10 days. These people should not be allowed to drive.
Never mind that I watched a man die just trying to get onto a highway here. In the past three days, I've seen the aftermaths of no fewer than seven accidents on the roads here. Keep in mind that, not having a clue of where I am, I have exactly three routes--to work, to my apartment, and to my brother and sister-in-law's place. That's it. Fifteen miles of road, three days, seven accidents, one fatality.
Now I realize it--just like the doctor in Carlin's routine, the drivers in Rhode Island are the worst in the world, and I have an appointment with them every day for the next six months. We're not talking about defensive driving anymore, we're talking justified paranoia.
No more changing radio stations, no more sodas. I can no longer assume that everyone on the road has the same overly-aggressive disregard for life that I have on the highways--that's Massachusetts. No, these people have no regard for anything at all. Imagine a Broadway show where every single person on stage is doing their own special dance, with no sense of where anything else on stage is. That's Rhode Island.
When I first drove in New York City, I jockeyed for position with all the cab drivers and thought to myself, "Finally. Some worthy opponents." They were the best in the world at what they did, and that was getting from point A to point B. These people are feebs.
That's it for now. I have to go to work early in the morning. It's four miles away. Wish me luck.
posted by Matthew at 9:36 PM
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