Wordless (or maybe speechless) Wednesday: a hour in my car to travel a kilometre

Ten phases of the traffic lights to move six car lengths. Traffic was gridlocked in this part of Auckland last night. Photo: Su Leslie 2014

Ten phases of the traffic lights to move six car lengths. Traffic was gridlocked in this part of Auckland last night. Photo: Su Leslie 2014

I got in my car at 5.50pm to meet the boy-child — 1.1 km away. I got to him at 7.05pm.

Sitting in stationary traffic, watching the lights phase and no-one move because the intersections were already full and all the surrounding roads were blocked, I actually started to have a panic attack.

To make it worse, I was only in my car because a) there isn’t a bus service to the city from my home during the day, and b) I can’t get parking at the bus station.

Note to transport planners: public transport only works if people have access to it.

And actually, the buses weren’t moving either.

Here are some other bloggers’ Wordless Wednesdays:

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wordless wednesday

05-14-14 Wordless Wednesday


Wordless Wednesday: 5-14-15

Wordless Wednesday | thepupdiary.com

Wordless Wednesday: Some things are made eternal




A maze of manners


The boy-child, blissfully unaware of the manners’ maze that awaits him.

ZimmerBitch has relocated to Wellington for a few well-deserved days of coffee and socialising and socialising over coffee.

One consequence of this is a reliance on public transport; something that’s a bit alien to my usual car-borne existence. Wellington has pretty good public transport in my experience. I know the locals complain and to be honest, the airport-Hutt Valley bus is criminally expensive, but in general whenever I’m in the capital I find I can walk a short distance to a bus-stop and before long a bus comes along that is willing to take me someplace interesting faster than I could walk.

This morning, I had to get from my hotel in funky Cuba Street to Victoria University’s Pipitea campus; a relatively short and mainly picturesque walk, but not one I wanted to do in heels.

Being relatively early morning, the bus was pretty crowded. People were already standing; but since they seemed to be teenagers, I felt ok about grabbing the last seat. It’s only when I sat down that I realised a woman had got on behind me. Really stylishly dressed and professional-looking I figured her to be in her sixties and was about to stand up and offer her my seat when it occurred to me I’m not that much younger than her – and to the rest of the bus we probably both looked more alike than different. I was suddenly struck with one of those dilemmas only the well brought-up could ever experience; was it worse to stay seated – which seemed disrespectful to me – or stand up and effectively say “hey lady, you look old enough to need my seat.”

I stayed put. Being rational, I was only going a few stops anyway. But more importantly, in this youth-obsessed age where sixty is the new thirty five, I figured I’d be mortified if someone – anyone – offered me their seat on the bus.