To interstate or not to interstate?

The other day, a friend of - mine who lives in Decatur - had a morning appointment in Sandy Springs. I offered my friend the best advice any true friend could offer in Atlanta… don’t take the interstate. Use the backroads I said! You’ll get there in the same amount of time, or faster! Better yet, you won’t end up STUCK in traffic living full of regret. Skip the exhaust and enjoy the scenery! Sound advice right?

Well my friend is a Native Atlantan as well, but trusts the interstate more than I do. I guess they haven’t been burned as hard as I have yet. Sure enough, they informed me that they took GA400 and all was well with the world. They recommended I see my doctor for some stress meds, take a vacation from the intown roads & put the pedal to the metal on our wonderful interstates that crisscross the A-town & make everyone’s lives so much more convenient than railways of other metropolitan cities. Was I just an intown idiot all this time?

I too had business in Sandy Springs later that same afternoon. The clock struck 4:30 PM and yours truly hopped in the car headed for the back roads home. That’s when it happened. A sense of doubt crept into my thoughts. My friend ignored my advice this morning and was totally fine. Maybe I’d been too hard on the poor interstates. More people are working from home anyways – how bad can it be? I decided to take a quick glance at the ETA on maps. 22 minutes and not a red dot on my route home! I guess I had been wrong after all. And with that, I took one look at the GA400 sign and busted a right onto the ramp. Down, down, down I flew – full speed ahead!

This was going to be great! I was going to be home early for dinner. My kids would be so happy to see me. We might even get some time out on the playground before dinner! For years, I had been wasting precious time on the backroads that I could’ve been spending with my family. I was so foolish before, but now everything was going to change. No more long scenic drives and red lights. Life is full of opportunity when you’re no longer a slave to traffic. At this point, I’d made it the bottom of the on-ramp. And that’s when I saw it.

A tiny tow truck whizzed by me before I could merge. No worries. Its probably just on the way home like me! Everyone has to go home, even tow truck drivers. Right? Wrong. Dead wrong. I was consumed with the error of my ways immediately. Have you ever seen the show Intervention? Here’s what happens at the end of each episode: The addict is lured into a room for their final interview with the tv host, only to find out all their closest family and friends are waiting inside to kidnap them to rehab. This was my intervention. I had entered the final room and all the cars were there, GA400 was there, the tow truck was there, the hero unit was there, the orange cones were there and an ambulance or two.

For the next hour, I moved 6 shameful miles. I watched my gas tank drain from 70 to 30 miles left. This was the rehab I needed. I’d let my guard down and paid the price. Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice? That is never going to happen again. And now like the end credits of an episode of Intervention here’s the final outcome:

Fila3000 has been free and clear of the interstate since our last interview.

He is no longer speaking to his friend from the beginning of the story.

She still takes the interstate.