Robert Lalah, Assistant Editor-Features

Whenever traffic gets backed up on Trafalgar Road, things get really sticky. - Peta-Gaye Clachar/Staff Photographer

Of course, nobody likes to get caught in traffic, but for Milford Winchester, a 73-year-old shop owner from Linstead in St Catherine, the experience was downright traumatic.

"Is bout 12 year now mi nuh travel inna motor vehicle, yuh know! Mi usually trouble wid di asthma and di upset stomach so mi nuh too badda wid it. Now dem a come tell mi bout traffic! Ah true dem nuh know it a gimmi gas pain. Mi feel like mi waan some mint tea fi belch off di gas," said an always candid Milford, much to the consternation of his 13-year-old grand-daughter, Lisa, sitting next to him.

Out of the ordinary

Milford, his nephew Andrew, who was driving, and dozens of other motorists and passengers were stranded in traffic on Trafalgar Road, St Andrew, last Friday. It was some time after 5 o'clock and although the motorists who use that road often would have expected some delays, today, something out of the ordinary was happening. The cars in his line of vision hadn't moved an inch in the last five minutes, so Milford decided to step outside to stretch his legs. "But uncle, you caan stand up inna di middle a di road," Andrew cautioned.

"Afta nothing nah move! Di traffic so poco poco today. Di place tan bad man! Mi all a get hungry now and mi haffi memba di sugar," said Milford, looking annoyed.

I had been sitting in the car behind Milford's and since we obviously weren't going anywhere any time soon, I got out and joined him for a stretch. I picked his brain on what might have been causing the abnormal delays. At first, he looked at me quite curiously. Then he warmed up. "Is all dem cyar what deh pan di road. Too much a dem now, man. Every jack man a drive cyar now. Yuh not even have space fi walk pan di road," Milford reasoned. By now, we were joined in the middle of the road by about five other frustrated motorists. One woman had heard my question to Milford and chimed in with a theory of her own.

"A di bad driving, man. A bet a some idiot a block di stop light mek nobody caan pass. A bet is a taxi man!" she quipped. Now she was a husky woman with a beard that could rival Fidel Castro's for sheer texture alone, so it was little wonder that the taxi man in a white station wagon nearby, who stuck his head out to protest her comment, quickly clammed up when he spotted her.

"Oy man a weh yuh a ..." he had started to say. The woman didn't even look in his direction. She just made a sucking sound with her mouth and went back to sit in her car. The sun was setting now and the air was getting a bit cooler. This didn't help lift the mood any, though. As I slowly tried to come to terms with spending the rest of my life out there on Trafalgar Road, I also mulled over the viability of abandoning the vehicle, that had now been rendered useless, and walking the rest of my journey. If nothing else, it would have at least been quicker. But, suddenly, a glimmer of hope appeared! The cars ahead of us in the line started to move! Salvation at last! Everyone jumped back into their cars and engines that had been shut off, roared to life again. Even Milford, though slow to react, seemed excited by the prospects of breaking the stagnation. After letting out a loud belch, he shouted to his nephew: "Come bwoy, start up di cyar!"

So, with thankful hearts, we were off. I'd say we moved a total of four and a half feet. Yes, four and a half feet, then we all came to a standstill once again. "Ah wah di@!?#!," someone shouted. The minor advance did nothing to appease the now bloodthirsty crowd, who, I swear were making up curse words as they went along.

What about the gas?

One touchy chap in a sports car beside me yelled a profanity-filled diatribe out the window, demanding a refund for the gas he was wasting by being stuck in the line. I still don't know who he was demanding it from, though, and I was wondering why he was looking at me when he spoke.

And so it went on for another hour and a half on the same roadway. Once we finally cleared that stretch and turned on to another road, the traffic eased significantly and the band of agitated motorists, once united in like frustration, were free once more to bad-drive each other and redirect their insults and denunciations to the place they truly belonged; back at each other. All was well with the world once more.

robert.lalah@gleanerjm.com