I was trying to eat my lunch the other day and was constantly interrupted, so I didn’t. You see I was, unfortunately, in Pietermaritzburg. Being a Durbanite this means I had to make use of the nausea inducing and excruciatingly painful piece of asphalt called the N3 in order to arrive at where I was, Pietermaritzburg, a city as far as I can see has no other reason for its existing other than providing somewhere to stop and vomit if you were on your way to, I don’t know, Howick maybe, a town that at least has a waterfall to shout about. If I had to compare ‘Maritzburg to a car, it would be a Toyota, has everything you need but is just so damn boring.

Now I realize for all you up-country folk that the N3 is probably sheer driving heaven such is the extent of your traffic problems but for us laid back Natalians it really is suicide inducing stuff. You see everyone on the N3 is one their way to work in ‘Maritzburg and naturally, as they sit in their cars contemplating spending another day working in hell, the mere thought of their life becomes as painful as the traffic jam they’re stuck in and so, are in such a foul mood they hate everyone around them, including themselves. Everyone feels the same way, so it’s a vicious circle.

Thankfully our local government resides in ‘Maritzburg (tells you something hey?) and not Durban, but this only contributes further to the nightmare which is the N3. You see, government officials are all late, regardless of their level in the food chain, from mere office clerks to MEC’s none of them have been able to grasp the concept of planning a journey by car in advance, thus they drive accordingly. Take Pete Pecker in his A3 with scratched rims and bent fenders who sits a mere 2 inches from your bumper, who obviously missed class when left and right concepts were first taught, and thinks that “pass right” actually translates to “pass right by you on the left”, only to be confronted by the conundrum that, the slow lane is actually occupied by an articulated truck who’s passing a truck who’s passing a truck.

Quite a few government officials tried their hands at actually driving themselves to work, but most of them only got halfway, phoned the office from the massive accident they had caused and relieved themselves for the day. This clearly wouldn’t do, and so being fairly clever people, they got other people to drive themselves around, in huge, black, unnecessary 4x4’s no less, with blue lights and sirens and everything.

Excessive? Yes. Effective? No. Why, if you need ten bodyguards, presumably to guard yourself against an imminent terrorist threat or errant DA official would you want to proclaim your arrival on the freeway, sirens blaring and blue lights flashing like a dodgy Point Road discotheque? Surely if you feared for your life every time you set out on your journey to work, you’d be more inclined to kind of fly-under-the-radar, instead of plastering yourself with a bull’s eye. Really the mind boggles.

I for one love these blue light brigades. Most journeys are about as exciting as a hole in the head. So when I see black hummers with burly drivers, flashing lights, swerving in out of view from my rearview mirror as they weave in and out of traffic, I get quite excited. You see, it gives me a chance to play my game, I call it “Cadre’s and Comrade’s”, Ok the name needs some work, but it is quite entertaining. Here’s how it works, when you see a blue light convoy approaching from behind in the fast lane, act as if you’re going to do ‘the right thing’ and gesture to move over. Ignorance is key here so indication is not warranted, casually drift towards the middle of the lane, be careful not to wander too far as you’ll have lost the game, you want to sit close enough to the fast lane so there’s not enough room for the cavalcade to get buy. More ignorance is welcomed here and pretending to be on your cell phone works a treat as this gives you the right to do just about anything. You really have to be awake at this point, as the oversized man with oversized sunglasses driving the oversized SUV behind you will attempt to get around you via the slow lane. At this point you indicator could be still on so as far your concerned your still moving over, straddle both lanes, acting confused. Throwing your hands up in the air adds nicely to the drama.

(You know when you’re walking down a corridor and there’s someone walking towards you. You’re both on the same side thinking the other one’s going to move over, except neither of you do and just as you both realize this you try and side-step each other, except you both go the same way, left, right and then you both bump into each other, gushing and feeling slightly awkward – this is what you’re after here).

Be sure to keep an eye on his facial expression at this point, because this is where the joy of this game comes from. He’ll be boiling behind his one way mirrors and throwing hand gestures and colourful expletives aplenty. It’s up to you for how long you want to keep this up, but be warned these drivers have been known to brandish the odd 9mm. But if you can handle the dangers it is immensely fun though.

Getting back to my ruined lunch though, being on the road a lot my lunch usually consists of me in my car and a Woolies pasta salad and a newspaper. As I tried unsuccessfully not to drop mayo in my lap as I tucked in to my salad, an insufferable car guard decided to have a conversation directly next to my right ear, with her fellow guardian of the lot. Usually I can ignore this distraction however considering the other participant in the conversation was, at least 100m away, I began to lose the will to live. At one point I honestly thought they were fighting such was the noise. Eventually, the one on the other side of the parking lot obviously got the hell in trying to get the gist of her colleague’s story, so she promptly parked her rather hefty derriere on my bonnet and they continued their obviously fascinating story on my car at the same decibel level as before. I ask you, whatever next, the mind boggles further.

With the my ears bleeding and my car ruined I managed to force the rest of my salad down and decided that Pietermaritzburg was not worth the effort and so found myself back on the N3. The only thought keeping me sane  was that I would be home in no time at all, only 45min, max. Little did I know that just down the road some arse had wrapped himself around a bridge. Oh Joy! Friday afternoon, long weekend, PMB to Durbs, traffic log-jam, on the N3…..Hang on, are those flashing blue lights I see in my mirror?