I. Am. Spoiled. Rotten.

I am a fully mature, adult woman and can admit that without fear of embarrassment or humiliation, although knowing some of my friends, the jury is still out on retribution. I am lucky enough to work for a large Fortune 100 company that believes telecommuting can be very effective (at least until I start writing best sellers and can start my 2nd – or 3rd career), and has 34% of it’s workforce at home. I’m part of the 34%, and feel so fortunate to be able to get up every day, roll out of bed, wake up at my leisure, drink my coffee, read, and walk to work in my jammies/shorts/jeans/sweats or other uniform of the day. I might go to the office once every other month or so for a class or special meeting. When I do, my first reaction is, of course, the reminder of how glad I am that I’m a telecommuter. Not because I’m getting up earlier than normal – oh no, the days of sleeping in are long gone now that I am, as my mother so kindly puts it, “at that stage of my life” and I generally wake between 5 and 6 every day. I just like not having to muck around with the dressing up, the make up, the hair, the jewelry, the shoes (ok, maybe the shoes are ok. I mean, let’s be real.) Then comes my second reaction. It goes a little something like this.

“What the…” mumble, mumble, swear, “what’s the matter with you, jerk face!” (Soothing jazz from satellite radio plays in the background). Keep driving, settle in, then “arrgghhhh” hit the brakes, swerve, pull back, speed up, slow down, let someone merge along with the jerk who snuck in because he has ants in his pants and can’t wait his turn. That’s just in the first 10 of 35 miles.

I HATE traffic. Really. Did anyone out there take Driver’s Ed besides me? Blinkers are NOT just pretty colored lights, nor are they optional. If your “boom-boom” music is making my mirrors vibrate, you should get a ticket. If you force your way up in line in merging traffic going from 2 lanes to one, you should be forced to have a bumper sticker on your car that says “I don’t know how to merge in zipper formation, I’m an idiot”.

Eight-sided red signs with thin white outlines aren’t optional, no matter what your high school friends told you back in central Minnesota, merge means “yes, bonehead, you too”, and the bright red light that comes after the yellow one? IT DOES NOT MEAN GO FASTER. The white lines that are painted on the road have a purpose. Stay between them, and you’ll find life is much better, particularly if they are solid and not dashed.

Did I mention I hate traffic?  If you can’t do hands free on your cellphone, don’t use it. (You probably shouldn’t anyway, but I know some must, and I’ve done it too, but only hands free and don’t when conditions are such that my attention has to be laser focused on the road.) And for the love of, STOP TEXTING, sheesh, amazing that anyone needs to be told THAT one.  I look around and my blood pressure is up, my heart beats faster and no dreaming of my happy place on a beach in the Caribbean or sailing on a tall ship can make the tension of traffic go away. Like the redneck comedians say, “here’s your sign!”

Thank heavens it’s only a day now and then. Yep, spoiled rotten. I can live with that. And if my friends don’t like it, well they can just come drive me to work every day instead. No more spoiled me AND no crabby me. If that’s not a win, I don’t know what would be. But since I’m more likely to get a jet pack before a chauffeur, I think I’ll opt for my version of the Staples Easy Button, and keep working from home. But for the love of God, don’t make us use the webcams.