The traffic jam

Today we were stuck in the most awful traffic jam. Some say that life is a classroom. Today is a perfect example of how you learn some pretty profound lessons in the most ordinary places and at the most unexpected and often mundane times. We’d emerged from the car park of one of Dijon’s most popular shopping centres only to find ourselves in a bumper to bumper traffic jam. The tension hit our car almost immediately when Matt said that he needed to go pee pee. Neither of us spoke. Both Jerome and I know better than to engage in conversation when neither of us has anything nice to say. The only possible comment to be made would have been in reference to the consequences of a certain someone’s selfish insistence to go shopping on one of the busiest weekends in France. Today was the first Saturday of the January sales in France. In this county you only have sales twice a year, a few weeks in January and then a few weeks in the summer, and on this particular Saturday afternoon it seemed that the entire population of Dijon was crammed inside this shopping mall looking for good deals and bargains. The atmosphere in our car was strained to say the least. But I couldn’t help but giggle when Jerome answered his mobile phone and told his Canadian friend that we were stuck in jam. Jerome speaks English very well. He went to university in Scotland. However there are a few things he says incorrectly that repeatedly make me laugh. Jerome has never referred to a traffic jam as a traffic jam. He simply says “jam” without using any article at all.

As we slowly made our way out on to the main road it became clear that this was a mighty, horrid monstrosity of a traffic jam. The cars were barely moving forward for as far as the eye could see. Jerome soon started with the bad language which unexpectedly provided Matty with an effective distraction from his full bladder. As Matt sat strapped in his car seat repeating “merde” over and over again, the reality of what lay before us started to set in. We were going to be getting home very late.

I soon noticed that a few cars were speeding past ours and making considerably better progress than us. Jerome explained that these were naughty rebellious drivers using the bus lane to get ahead and they risked a hefty fine should a policeman see them. I began to observe these lawless drivers driving past us. I saw a man with a nose ring and a tattoo and quickly categorised him as being an unruly hooligan. I saw a well dressed businessman in a fancy sports car and thought that he probably considered himself far too important to wait in the traffic like the rest of us folk in our mere modest cars. In yet another car I saw a family who I assumed were immigrants with no respect for French law. For nearly half an hour I observed these drivers in the bus lane. I effortlessly judged them. I glared at them and shook my head at them and thought to myself how much better than them I was until Jerome, after depleting his reserves of foul language, decided to pull into the bus lane and join them. I was horrified. This was not the man I married. I asked Jerome what on earth he was thinking and he glanced over at me, winked and confidently replied that he was unleashing his hidden James Bond.

I underwent an emergency self analysis and came to the unavoidable conclusion that I am a nothing but a self righteous woman who has taken it upon herself to unjustly judge those who dare to deviate from the path of unrealistic permanent perfection. It was a shocking realisation. I am no better than the pretentious and arrogant driver in the convertible, who may not actually be pretentious or arrogant at all. I am no better than the eccentric man with the piercings or the natives who aren’t entirely native or any of the other drivers in the bus lane. Ever since I’ve known Jerome he has commented on how judgemental I am. I’ve just always considered myself gifted when it comes to giving people personal assessments.

I hope this year however I will be trading in this talent for a new one. I hope this year I will learn to see through people’s exteriors and into their interiors, and I hope that I’ll never again forget that we are truly all the same. I hope to spend less time judging others and more time working on myself. This is my new year’s resolution.