I'm Not Crazy—I'm Listening to Louis C.K.

Roon's school is a quick walk from our house to his home room. Of course, he sleeps until the last minute each day so he can't make it there if he walks so I have to drive him to school which means I have to make it through the Gauntlet of Stupidity each morning without cursing into cardiac arrest.

For the first couple of weeks I did what all the other parents did. I hung my shaggy dome out the window and screamed phrases banned from use in the British Navy. And prisons. Some mornings I found myself dangerously close to leaping out of my car and eating the living crap out of some petit, double cell phone wrangling soccer mom and her impossible inability to use a blinker. I mean, I don't—I wouldn't. Those bitches are armed.

But man, the cranky is deep. You know the news footage where someone is trapped on top of their car while muddy water and ugly sofas swirl around their mini hummer? Imagine that but it's not water, it's pure unadulterated anger.

And everyone hates everyone else. They're all beady eyeing each other through the windshield and waiting to pounce on the tiniest infraction of morning drop off traffic jam etiquette and unload all the pent up anger left over from yesterday when they did EXACTLY THE SAME THING.

Bear in mind, this school is located at a three way intersection that entertains nearly 20,000 cars on each artery every day. Most of them are trying to drop off their kids.

Here're examples of the pure stupid:

• Just stopping in front of the school to wait


• Parking in the right hand lane for whatever reason


• Switching drivers in traffic


• Parking in front of the entrance to switch drivers, unload eight slow children, replace their engine


• Parking on the train tracks


• Causing me to park on the train tracks


• Blocking the intersection


• Re-blocking the same intersection


• Turning left from the right hand lane into the other right hand lane

And these are all the same car.

After a stint in anger management, I realized I merely needed to accept that I drive among the retarded—and that by changing my environment, I can change how I react to them. I wasn't sure what to do. Until Pandora added comedy to their stream.

Now I turn on my Louis C.K. channel and laugh my way through the tard fest. While everyone else's face is clenched into a fist of pure rage, mine is loose and relaxed, scrunched up into an insane grin or split ear-to-ear from full on guffawing.

However, I caught someone's eye today (we all try to avoid this) and realized that while inside my car, I'm simply being super entertained, jolly, and relaxed, from the outside, I look like a terrorist. My hair is attempting to escape. My face is a post-pillow, drool crusted wedge, my eyes are wide, and I'm laughing hysterically. They don't know I'm listening to Louis C.K. They think I'm stewing in angry silence just like them. Only I'm laughing.