by Matt Shaw
My irrational fear of spiders meant I took no chances where they were concerned.
With the fresh towel, I started to dry myself whilst keeping an eye on the windows on the off-chance I could see anything crawling in. Great way to start a Monday morning, I thought. Like Mondays aren’t bad enough already being the start of yet another shitty working week, which you already know is going to drag on and on, but now I have to contend with that shit too.
I blame the unusually hot summer weather we’ve been having these past few weeks.
No rain, a hose-pipe ban in place, people with smiles on their faces as they enjoy the decent weather after a fairly mild winter. If this is Global Warming - we need to act now. I mean, don’t misunderstand me, I’m loving the weather...I’m just not loving the arachnids which seem to have come with it. Mind you, it’s not just them either - there are bigger crickets too...Not that I mind them but, I don’t even recall seeing one last year. Now - when we go to bed - we can hear them outside, singing their songs into the night sky as though doing some grand performance. Some grand performance you just wish you could end with a VAT of pesticide so you can get a decent night’s sleep.
I realised just how many more butterflies there were than usual too whilst walking to my car. Again, in the last few years, I hardly remember seeing any of them either but this year - most days you’d see at least ten flying merrily around as though drunk on life. I don’t mind butterflies though - at least they’re pretty to look at. With spiders and crickets, there’s nothing pretty about them.
I pressed the alarm fob, on my keychain, as I neared my Mercedes - unlocking it in the process - and climbed into the driver’s seat, gasping for air in the process.
Jesus, half past eight in the morning and it’s already sweltering. If it carries on like this, there’s a good chance it could be the hottest day yet.
I slid the key into the ignition and turned it, causing the engine of the company car to spit into life. Even the engine sounded as though it couldn’t be bothered to do anything in this heat. Fuck the fuel consumption, I thought as I pressed the air conditioning button. It’s not like I pay for the fuel anyway. I mean, not by the time I’ve claimed it back anyway - sometimes sneaking through some of my wife’s receipts wherever possible too.
Hey, don’t judge me! With the cost of living going up, two kids to feed and a wife who likes the finer things in life - not forgetting the lack of pay-rise for the last couple of years - a man has to do what a man has to do! And, if that means sneaking some dodgy receipts through pay-role for an extra quid here and there - well - so be it!
With the radio also kicking into a stuttered life, I gently pressed my foot on the accelerator and pulled out from my driveway - ready to face the day. Well...As ready as I’d ever be in this weather.
As I drove down the road, I remembered what it was like when the intense heat first hit. The weatherman stated it would be a long lasting heatwave. For once, it was nice to note, they weren’t wrong but we didn’t know that at the start - when they first spoke about it. We simply thought it was going to be another one of those flash in the pan kind of heat-waves we get here; one day of it being insanely hot and the following day of torrential rain and thunderstorms. For the first few days hundreds of people phoned into work sick across the south; all claiming to have the same stomach bug. News programmes reported there had been a record high for people calling in sick. Not that it lasted - a couple of days and the ‘sick’ folk were soon back behind their desks, counters or whatever they worked behind...Soon back to work, fully recovered and with a nice tan.
I didn’t take any time off work. I had worked right through. Sometimes it was harder than other days and I was so hot that I had wished I had phoned in sick - just so I could have stayed at home in the kids’ paddling pool whilst they were at school...Figured there was no point, though. I knew that I’d enjoy the day of lazing around the pool so much that I wouldn’t want to go back. I’d be inclined to take more days off and, like I said, bills need paying. Besides, no pay-rise for the last few years - surely this is the year it’s going to be coming and, on the off-chance it’s only to select people...Well...I want to be seen as a good investment.
Shit!
I slammed on the car’s brakes and skidded to a halt. On a road which was usually quiet at this time of the morning, all I could see was a string of traffic stretching out into the horizon.
“What the fuck is this?” I said out loud as though I expected someone to come back to me with an answer. Probably just as well there was no one else in the car - what with the heat and the unpleasantness of the spider this morning, I’m not in the mood for some idiot’s response of ‘traffic’ to my rhetorical question. I flicked the radio channels over - trying to find a traffic report but soon gave up when I realised there was nothing but the usual annoying early morning jockeys.
Must be an accident, I thought.
Probably someone out, speeding, enjoying the early morning sunshine. Perhaps they turned the corner, got blinded by an unexpected ray of sunshine and slammed into something? Easily done - especially if it’s a motorcyclist.
People on motorbikes annoy me the way they think the speed limit is only aimed at cars. They just blast along, without a care in the world and then - when they have an accident - it’s the people in the cars they hit who get the stick. Government safety campaigns tell us to ‘Think Bike’ but, at the end of the day, surely it would make more sense for them to tell the guys, and girls, on the death traps to ‘Think Car’? They’re probably just too scared to say it for fear of upsetting some relative of yet another dead motorcyclist.
The sound of a siren broke my internal monologue of a rant. I looked into my rear-view mirror and saw an ambulance coming up behind me - using the opposite side of the road, which was unusually quiet, to bypass the jam that I was sat in. Seconds after originally hearing the siren, the ambulance shot straight past me.
Fucking motorcyclists, I thought as I jumped to the potentially wrong conclusion.
More sirens. Same direction. I looked back into my rear-view mirror and noticed two police cars speeding in my direction. Again, just like the ambulance, they shot past my car - and the other stationery vehicles. Seconds later - a fire truck.
All those vehicles. Possibly not a motorcyclist then.
Maybe two motorcyclists, I thought.
I reached down into my trouser pocket and pulled out my mobile phone. At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter how many bikes it may or may not be...It’s not going to stop me from being late. A quick phone call, to call ahead, should stop me from landing in any major hot water although, I have to say, all of this just sums up my day perfectly.
I dialed the number, hit the green button on the phone’s keypad, and waited for the connection. I wonder if there’s any way I can just go back to bed and start again? Although I’ll have to check under the bed, first, to make sure that spider definitely didn’t come back in...
“I’m sorry - the networks are currently busy!” said a robotic female voice, down the other end of my mobile phone.
“What the fuck?” I need to stop swearing. I keep accidentally letting the bad words slip out in front of the kids and they’re at that age where they seem to copy everything I say, or do, even if they know it’s wrong. Sometimes I just can’t help myself, though. Probably won’t be winning any Parent of the Year awards.
I hung up and re-dialed. Again, I waited for a connection to my work’s landline.
“I’m sorry - the networks are currently busy!” the same message again.
“Shit!”
I looked ahead of me, as I tried the phone again, and noticed other drivers from cars further down the jam were standing in the road with their phones in the air as though trying to find reception.
“Okay - not my work’s number then,” I said, after originally thinking the landline had gone down. After all, it wouldn’t have been the first time it had gone down. Since changing service provider - we’
d had nothing but trouble with the phones and Internet. And when you’re supposed to be selling, on the phone, all day - I can’t explain what a pain in the arse it is to have a network that goes up and down more than a whore’s knickers.
I got out of the car and called out to a fellow male driver, who was also standing beside his vehicle, “Hey! You got any signal?” I shouted.
“Nothing that can seem to connect to anything,” he waved his phone in my direction as though to prove there was no signal. From this distance, though, I couldn’t even tell what make the handset was! “You neither?”
I shook my head and held up my phone. Perhaps his eye-sight was better than mine? If not - at least it might make him realise how retarded his own gesture was.
“Don’t think we’re alone,” he said, nodding towards other drivers. “Who is your provider?”
“Vodafone,” I called out. “You?”
“O2. Just keeps saying they’re busy and to try again later.”
“Do you know what’s happened to cause all this?” I called out. Hopefully someone had come up and said something, or maybe he’d heard something on the local news channel. To save from shouting, I left my car and approached his.
“No idea - been sat here for forty minutes, or so,” he said - no longer shouting as I neared him. “Half tempted to leave my car here and walk in,” he continued.
“Not heard anything on the radio about it? Some kind of broadcast?”
He shook his head, “Been listening to a CD - didn’t even think about listening to local radio, to be honest.”
I looked up when I heard the sound of a car coming from the opposite direction. A female driver - I couldn’t help but think she might have known what was going on so I waved her down. To my surprise, and gratitude, she actually slowed to a stop and wound her window down so she could talk to us.
“I don’t suppose you know what’s happened to cause all this?” the stranger, who was standing with me, asked the lady in the car - despite it being me who had flagged her down.
I strained to hear her, “The police have blocked the road off, a little way down. They’re not saying what is happening and giving no indication as to when they’re unblocking the road so I just turned round. If I were you - I’d do the same. They don’t seem to know what they’re doing down there. Just seems to be a lot of confusion and angst,” she said. “Thought I’d try the back roads in,” she continued.
Would make sense, I thought - a thought I kept quiet about just in case anyone else heard me. If I was quick, I could get back to my car before any of the other stranded drivers decided to try and use the same tactics - although, deep down, I’m sure the roads would already be blocked anyway.
I left the man and woman talking and turned back to my own car. Hell, if I was really quick, I could even get in front of her to save getting stuck behind a woman driver.
I jumped in and started the engine with a quick twist of the key. A check of my rear-view mirror - nice to see, for once, that the car behind me hasn’t parked too close to my arse. Certainly enough room to reverse a little and swing the car around - a little move which I pulled off as quickly as I could and, just as planned, I was soon driving back the way from whence I came; a smile on my face as I had managed to get in front of the woman.
Smooth driving there, I thought.
I couldn’t help but smile to myself at the sight of all the cars which had joined the queue behind me. Poor bastards - I wonder how many of them will wait and see if the road clears before doing what I’m doing? Had it not been for that lady, in her car - I wonder how long I would have waited for come to think about it.
I hung a left and started my journey around the back roads. Same destination but usually a longer route because the roads go around the houses, so to speak. People still opt to come this way, though, believing it to be the quicker of the two main routes into town - fooled into that way of thinking by the fact they’re able to put their foot down as opposed to the potential of stop-start traffic jams.
With one eye on the road, I leaned down and switched to the local radio station. The jockey does my head in - some dick who loves the sound of his own voice too much - but I’m curious to know what’s happened in the town to cause such congestion. Must be something pretty major as I think that’s definitely the worst I’ve ever seen it.
A few more twists and turns, as I continued at pace, when suddenly I had to slow the car to a halt again at the sight of another traffic jam. Again - only my side of the road. The other side was completely clear of all traffic - not even the odd car, or bike.
“FUCK!” I yelled.
There was a group of people standing around one of the cars a little further down, all chatting. I decided to venture over to see if any of them knew what was happening in town and - more importantly - how long we’d have to be sitting there.
I climbed out of my car, after switching the engine off to save on fuel, and walked towards the group, “Hi,” I called out as I neared them.
“And another one has joined the line,” said one of the group; a young man - I’d say a few years younger than myself...Perhaps twenty nine? Going by the line of cars, I’d say he was the one who owned the BMW. He looked like a dickhead - one of the main traits of most male BMW drivers.
“That yours?” I asked as I passed the blue BMW.
The man nodded, “Why?”
“It’s nice,” I said - a smirk on my face. I changed the subject, “Anyone know what’s happening here?”
A woman chipped in, “Traffic jam.”
Ever useful, I thought.
Another woman piped in, “The gentleman here,” she signified a man standing next to her, “managed to call into his work place and they said they’re rioting in the city centre.”
“Rioting? What about?” I asked.
The man, who had managed to make the phone call, piped up, “Not sure - they just said that police were there trying to calm them down but everything was kicking off. They were watching it from the top of the tower block so didn’t see who started it...Just heard from someone who ran into the building and told them how crazy it was out there. Phone went dead and I haven’t been able to get anyone since.”
“None of us have been able to get through,” said the first lady who shall be forever known as “Little Miss Obvious”.
“There’s a road-block round the corner,” said the dickhead. “Police are just stopping everyone.”
“Yes, that’s what a road-block is usually used for,” I said. I don’t know what it is about this man that has rubbed me up the wrong way. Just, he has a really arrogant look about him. Probably nice as pie.
“Do you have a problem?” he asked - instantly squaring up to me.
“You mean other than running late for work - stuck in an endless line of traffic? No - I’m peachy....Well, I say that...I was in the shower, this morning, and...Well...I found a lump.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” the BMW driver was getting more agitated.
One of the other ladies was trying not to laugh, as was the other man but the third lady looked uncomfortable with the exchange which was taking place before her eyes.
“Look, I’m hot...I’m irritated...Fairly tired and stressed...Just ignore me,” I said, “I’m sorry.” An apology and a backing down because I’m the bigger man. I thank you. I turned back to the gentleman who had been successful with his call, “Where does your friend work?” I asked him.
“On the edge of town in the HSBC building - fairly close to the docks.”
“And you say they’re rioting?” I asked him to confirm what he had said - my heart in the back of my throat as I knew it wasn’t that far away from where my children went to school.
“That’s what my friend told me...”
“Anyone know what’s being said at the road-block?” I asked.
They shrugged.
One of the women said, “They’re just saying there has been an incident and they can’t let us go th
rough.”
I reached into my pocket and pulled my phone out again. Maybe Emma didn’t get the kids to school - maybe she’s stuck in one of these traffic jams. I dialed her number, from the contacts section of the phone, and waited - despite knowing the chances of it actually connecting were slim to none.
“Anything?” asked the dickhead.
