Last night there was a 7:05 p.m. game at Fenway. In the past I've found that the best strategy for avoiding Red Sox Nation-Related Traffic Hell has been to leave work insanely early, so I get home before it (RSNRTH, that is) breaks out in earnest. However, sometimes I can't do it.
So yesterday, I had the delusion that maybe if I didn't leave the suburban hinterlands where my office is until 6 p.m., maybe everybody would be at the game by the time the Peanut and I arrived in the vicinity of Storrow Drive, which is where the prime traffic lunacy usually erupts.
Well, it turns out that everybody is decidedly NOT already at Fenway by 6:45 p.m. on 7:05 p.m. game nights. No, at that point they are still engaged in cutting one another off and driving up on the sidwalks and speeding dangerously through tight openings between the double-parked cars, as per usual.
"Are we going to have to stay here FOREVER?" the Peanut moaned from the back seat. No, I responded. It only feels like forever.
Thanks a bunch, Red Sox Nation!