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Bob

Batz

 

 

Read Bob's bio and previous columns

 

January 9, 2009

A Self-Made Dawdler in Fast America

 

Have you noticed how so many things in America these days are “FAST?”


Drive-in eateries, once dubbed “burger joints” are now “fast-food restaurants.”


The need for speed has also led to the invention of all sorts of things, including instant coffee and medications that are billed as “fast-acting.”

 

It is also the reason most discount stores have so-called “fast lanes” that enable shoppers with 10 items or less in their carts to get in and out of the store before some idiot driver in the parking lot gets a chance to open his car door into their car door leaving a dent roughly the same size as the Grand Canyon.

 

If, on the other hand, you are unfortunate enough to have more than 10 items in your cart, you’ll probably have to phone your employer and ask for a couple of vacation days so you have time to pay for your purchases.

 

My question is, why the heck are so many people in such a hurry these days?


Not only aren’t those people pausing to smell the proverbial roses, they probably aren’t even planting roses because the darned things take so long to produce flowers.

 

Hey, if I’m ill and need an ambulance, I’m fine with fast.

 
But if I’m shopping for a dozen eggs and a package of chewing gum at the grocery, I probably have time to spend a few minutes in a checkout line. 

 

Yup, fast is definitely “in” these days.


As a result, the so-called morning drive has become the Indianapolis 500 without checkered flags, as motorists of all ages totally ignore the speed limit signs to race to their places of employment.

 

Whoever coined the phrase “rush-hour traffic” certainly knew what he or she was talking about.


I’ve had plenty of jobs during my lifetime. But I’ve never exceeded speed limits to get to a single one of them and I’ve never been late for work.


That’s because I always leave the house a few minutes early so I can poke along the highway at less-than-breakneck speeds.

 

The older I get, the slower I go.


I’m a self-made dawdler who would rather enjoy the roadside scenery than try to outrun other motorists.


How slow am I?


Well, just between you and me, I once got a ticket for illegal parking – and I was driving on the interstate at the time.

 

You can reach Bob at bbatz@who.rr.com

                        

© 2008 North Star Writers Group. May not be republished without permission.

 

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