Earlier this week I had to take a trip out to a place a couple of hours drive from the city. It was a reasonably pleasant journey, until my route took me directly through the seething megalopolis of Worcester*.
This place forms something of an agricultural hub and is reasonably big by small-town standards. This basically means that you might find a computer shop nestled next to tractor dealership. It also means that they have planted traffic lights absolutely everywhere, even though there are hardly enough cars to warrant even one of the stupid things. The timing control routine seems to have been devised by some local madman, because they have been cunningly programmed to ensure that you stop at every. damned. intersection. This has the effect of creating major congestion with only a pathetic dribble of traffic. I can just picture the city fathers gazing fondly upon this unholy mess and finding it good, because it makes a town half the size of Butthole, Montana look really, really busy. Bastards!
It was a struggle for me to relax my jaw and remember to breathe when I noticed an octogenarian with an equally decrepit hound outpacing me on the sidewalk.
* For non-locals, it’s pronounced WUSS-DUH. Coincidence? Hmm… I wonder.