Let me just start this blog off by saying I grew up in
The Big ATL Atlanta suburbs. I understand traffic, I learned to drive in traffic, I ran my 1997 Honda Civic into the back of a big rig in traffic, and once I had to pee in a cooler because I was stuck in traffic for seven hours trying to make a 3.5 hour journey home AND I HAD NO OTHER OPTION, JUDGE ALL YOU WANT.
The point is, traffic isn’t new to me. It’s not like I moved here from Erwin. For me to bitch about traffic, it’s really got to suck. Back in 1998 I got out of a parking lot full of stoners at Turner Field after a Dave Matthews Band concert, and EVEN THAT can’t compare to the dark feelings that come with trying to turn left out of the Fuquay post office.
We’ve all been there. You dragged your ass to the post office because they’ve gone and lost your package again and you can’t get anyone on the phone so you’ve run out of options.
This is the most accurate image I’ve ever seen.
After escaping an hour later with no package and a fresh hatred of bureaucracy, you’re already pissed and not in any mood to deal with Fuquay’s crap. All you want to do is turn left and get to where you’re going as soon as possible.
I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Fuquay Family Practice is right next door. By the time you make a left turn out of the post office parking lot your blood pressure is sky high and assistance needs to be close at hand in case you stroke out. Well played, Dr. Devente, if that’s even your real name.
Let’s say you’ve found The Lord’s favor and you do manage to make a left turn on Judd Parkway. Don’t get all cocky now, because you’re not going anywhere and I hope you’ve got some leftover Bojangles in the backseat and some praise music to bring you closer to God so you don’t curse in front of the kids. Before you know it Tim Beck will be passing your ass on foot. Once when I was sitting on Judd Parkway I went through all five stages of grief.
First one was denial. It’s not really going to take that long, the line will move in a minute. Then came the anger. What kind of idiots designed this shit?! Shortly after that I went into bargaining mode. Dear God, if you let this traffic move I will move to Cary and pay my penance in high taxes and concerts at Waverly Place. After bargaining, empty feelings entered my soul on a deeper level and turned into depression. I literally can’t go on past the rail road tracks. Why go on at all? Acceptance happened the minute I realized that being stuck on Judd Pkwy was my permanent reality. It’s important to remember that as we begin to live again and enjoy our life, we are not betraying our justifiable anger toward the traffic on Judd, it just doesn’t define us.
Don’t even get me started on THE CONES THAT HAVE SURVIVED THE AGES aka “The Ancients” aka “A Major Pain In The Ass”
Next time your kid wants to bring a fossil to school for show and tell, just grab one and stick it in their book bag. It’s not like anyone will notice. The “cone situation” on Purfoy has gotten so bad that the Town of Fuquay invested tax money in making a little video about it in the hopes that we’d stop losing our shit. For serious.
I don’t feel that the little man in that video adequately expresses our frustration, Town of Fuquay. That doesn’t look like a broken man to me. That dude must be from Holly Springs because he’s gullible as shit.
If they INSIST on making videos, I’d like one about Products Road. Products Road is like that scrub boyfriend that’s been with you for years and makes empty promises so eventually you decide to move on and forget about him because he’ll never put a ring on it then suddenly he starts making steps toward marriage so you get your hopes up but then you realize that no, it’s just another empty promise and you were a fool to trust him again, A FOOL!
There is so much to blog about when it comes to Fuquay traffic. The bipolar speed limits, turning left out of Kroger and living on a prayer, exiting the Home Depot parking lot, attempting to get back to Fuquay from Holly Springs in the afternoon, trying to get out of the Bojangles parking lot before you just say screw it, I live here anyway. I would blog about all of this in detail but I’ve already got stress IBS from writing thus far and I don’t think I can take it anymore, damnit. Anxiety is real.