Damn this traffic jam

I went out shopping and random errand-running today, the course of which took me into our bustling metropolis, Hyannis, a place I usually avoid assiduously. But I really needed some of the extraordinarily fantastic tapenade they sell at this one place in Hyannis, really needed it, so I went.

I had to get the car back to Matt by 1:30, and I was cutting it close, because the tapenade store has all sorts of other wonderful and amazing sundries that required my rapt attention and perusal. By the time I pried myself away from the thrills and shocking revelations of their cheese aisle, I was indeed running late.

So I was less than pleased to quickly discover myself in a massive pile of gridlock near the airport rotary (we Cape Codders do love our rotaries…) at about the time I should have been pulling into my driveway. But I am a reasonable chick, generally not given to fuming over things over which I have no control, so I picked up my Lands’ End catalog from the floor of the car and started fantasizing about it someday being warm enough to wear a tank top again. Perhaps even a black tank top with spaghetti straps. Mmmm… spaghetti….

And so on.

As we inched forward, I noticed a remarkably large flotilla of emergency vehicles parked along the sides of the road. I craned my neck to see if the TJ Maxx or Staples was on fire, but alas, no amazingly low-priced values of either cheap imported clothing or cheap imported electronics were going up in smoke. So far I had counted four fire engines, two ambulances, and about ten police cars. And a couple of guys across the street with handheld video cameras. When I was alongside the videographers, I swiveled my head to my side of the street to see what they were filming. Nothing special, it seemed, just a bank.

I thought how funny it would be if there were, like, a bank robbery in progress. It did kind of look like an Olde Cape Codde version of Dog Day Afternoon around here.

Eventually, the traffic jam let up, I put my catalog down, and — still debating if I could still carry off my favorite shade of pale green in a tank top — drove on home.

Then I checked the local news page online, and found this.

Not only a bank robbery, but a bomb, too! As yet, they aren’t saying if the bomb was determined to be real or not. I am generally skeptical of such things, and suspect it was a fake, but my nonchalance is somewhat eroded by the fact that I was sitting in my car right in front of the damn bank for ten minutes.

And I could have gone to meet my maker whilst internally debating the merits of black lycra spaghetti straps and built-in bra support.

That’s great. That’s super. Pass the valium. I’m taking to my bed.

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