The Top 10 Causes of Traffic Jams in Columbus

Traffic in Columbus isn't bad, but it is the only traffic we have and so we need to make the best/worst of it. Here are the Top 10 traffic jam causing elements in Columbus.


10. The Bramble Trailer
There is some money to be made in Columbus by hauling branches in a rickety, old two-wheeled trailer that looks to be made of twigs itself. In going from the location where the branches were picked up to the inevitable illegal dumping location where they were supposed to end, the two-wheel trailer becomes a one-wheeled trailer and winds up alone in the road. This will cause traffic to stop as people stop to admire how well the sticks were packed into the one-wheel trailer.

9. Red, White, and Boom
There will never be a traffic jam before Columbus’ annual 4th of July event because people will start arriving two months ahead of time to stake out property. Fortunately, Columbus outlawed barbed wire in 1998. But after the event… it’s like taking three Polaris Amphitheater traffic jams (Polaris Amphitheater traffic jams were #11 on the list) and cramming them into very large bagpipe and sitting on it, slowly. The easiest way to get out of Red, White, and Boom is to fake a heart attack and get Life-Flighted out.

8. Dead X on road
Columbus has dead things on the road. Usually one every thirty feet. They range from small dead things to really big dead things. Sometimes they are not dead things, but are soon after you hit them. The reaction to a dead thing in the road, by of a small percentage of Columbus drivers, is to come to a complete stop, put on their blinker, and wait for rush hour traffic to clear up so they can change lanes and go around the dead X.

7. and 6. Ohio State Football Games (tie)
These get you coming and going. Going early doesn’t help. Leaving early doesn’t help. Taking an Uber is very unhelpful in either direction. You can only avoid this by walking there and then stumbling home. Another good work around is to fake a heart attack in Dublin and have them Life Flight you to the OSU Richard M. Ross Heart Hospital and as they roll you in, say you need to step out for a smoke.

5. Not a pothole
Columbus drivers are familiar with driving over potholes. When they come to a stretch of road without a pothole, then panic and swerve. This will cause accidents and traffic jams.

4. Nothing
Columbus is well known for the traffic jams that cause all lanes to come to a halt. For traffic to surge a few times and come back to a halt. Then right when you expect to see a bramble trailer or dead x, it opens up and traffic goes back up to the normal 45 – 87mph.

3. Rubber Necking
C is for cookie. It’s also for curious. People in Columbus are a curious folk. If they see a flashing light, or pulled over car, or even another traffic jam, we need to slow down and investigate: “Is that someone I know? What car were they driving? I bet they were texting.” And because we can’t do two things at once, Columbus drivers have to slow down to be curious. I hear tell of a rubber necking traffic jam in 2014 that had a domino effect all the way around 270, both directions. In the end, a group of construction workers had to lift one car up and out and throw it over the 270 Dublin bridge to create space so that all the other cars could get by.

2. Rain
Someday, we will learn to drive in the rain and Columbus will be as popular as Chicago or Miami. Until then, when it rains, we drive poor.

1. Everyone Else
Everyone else in Columbus is a bad driver but you. No one else knows how to drive in Columbus but you. Everyone either drives too fast or too slow and that when you go over the speed limit it is just the right amount. You pay the exact right attention and you don’t look at your phone for too long like other people do. And on the day that you do get into an accident and cause a traffic job, it most certainly will not be your fault.



 

Panties just don’t do it for me anymore

I used to love the word panties as much as I loved panties themselves. Panties. It’s a fun word that elicits excitement and opportunity, or at least it used to. The only reason to talk about panties was when a girl was getting into them or, hopefully, out of them. And imagining if the panties matched the bra or maybe even no panties. No panties!

Panties!

But now… panties have lost their luster. We are potty training our daughter and what I hear now is, “Ann pooped in her panties!” or her yelling in defiance, “NO PANTIES!” No panties used to be good. Now it means a two minute chase around the house and five minutes more of wrestling them on. I never thought I’d have to fight a girl to get her panties on.

I rinse out poopy panties in the sink. I watch my daughter gleefully point out Dora the Explorer on her panties. I go to pick them up off the floor and realize she took them off because they were wet. I rinse more poop out of panties.

Panties. Not fun anymore. Goodbye panties.

Luckily, I have another ten years or so of liking bras.

Church Wine

There was a time in my life when I was Catholic.  As a kid in a Catholic family, we sometimes got to sit up on the altar with the priest during mass.  All the families rotated through. It was a great time for mom to practice pinching four children simultaneously to keep us from wiggling, nudging, squirming and what boiled down to dicking around up there in plain view of 200 or so judgmental people.  The view from the altar is much better than from the pews.  More people to look at. You can see the nails in Jesus up close. See the priest from the backside. (Insert your own Catholic priest joke here.)

It was the job of the family on the altar to present the gifts to the priest during mass. The gifts are the sacramental bread and wine that represent Jesus after he died, quit drinking and went gluten free. Before mass, the priest would prepare the wine and wafers in the priest green room and the family would sneak them out to the altar before mass started.

In the secret lair of the priest, the wine was stored in a locked cabinet.  The key to the cabinet was on a woven purple string.  It was probably just a piece of string or something simple, but it seemed special.  The priest would need to get the wine and pour it in a golden chalice for transportation to the stage…  err, altar.  Church wine was special. I knew it was special because it came in a small, odd shaped bottle with letters and numbers on it.  There was also a picture of grapes on it in case anyone needed to be reminded that it was wine. When he opened the locked cabinet, I saw that bottle and it was burned into my memory. I could see the priests that worked in the wine fields, picking those same illustrated grapes, stomping on them, putting the liquid in barrels with God smiling from above.  In time, the holy liquid would be bottled in those very special bottles and shipped to churches across the world.

It was poured, recapped and locked back in the cabinet.

When you are 12 and Catholic, you get a sip of wine during communion. My brother would dare me to take a gulp, but God would get pissed, and I was already in trouble with him for the constant masturbation.

At the end of communion, the priest would drink any leftover wine. I remember thinking that being a priest has its perks!

Everyone would leave the church. The family would help to clean up. The priest would say thanks and be thankful that our family wouldn't be back for another 18 months.

It’s now years later. I’m no longer 12, but I am not yet 21.  I am in a car that is going through a drive-thru to illegally buy beer.  Doob is in the front seat, questioning the guy about the different beers.  We are all silently yelling at him to shut up, order a 24 pack of Old Milwaukee and move on. Trying to look busy not looking at the beer guy, I pretend to take interest in the other beers in the coolers.

Church wine. Church wine! They had church wine at the beer drive-thru!

I turned to Russ. “Hey, they have church wine here.”

Russ didn’t know what I was talking about. “What are you talking about?”

I pointed. That wine. “The one with the numbers and letters. And the grapes!! It’s church wine. It's a special Catholic Church wine.”

“You mean the Mad Dog?”

I had heard of Mad Dog. It was like a liquor or something. “No. The one with MD and 20/20. That’s church wine.”

The car was now pulling away. Doob was somehow able to buy the beer and not get busted.

Russ said, “The one with the MD is Mad Dog. MD. Mad Dog. It’s fortified wine. It’s what bums drink because it’s cheap.”

My whole life was a sham. The special wine. The locked cabinet. The priests in the field. God smiling down as the bottles were shipped around the world.  It was all one big lie. One oddly shaped bottle with screw top cap, numbers and letter and a picture of grapes lie.

It’s been a long time since I have had church wine. I remember the taste. The dare to take a chug. The special bottle with the M and D. Numbers. And a picture of beautiful, plump grapes.