The events that have transpired on what was supposed to be a typical morning commute to work has caused me to trudge through the nooks and crannies of my old writings to find one of my topics on perhaps the most annoying experience of driving; rubbernecking.

verb (used without object)


to look about or stare with great curiosity, as by craning the neck or turning the head.
verb (used with object)


to gawk at:
rubbernecking is so insufferably frustrating that i still would not gawk at an accident of this magnitude
rubbernecking is so insufferably frustrating that i still would not gawk at an accident of this magnitude

March 14 2014


The morbid curiosity that people have for accidents never ceases to drive me to some sort of indignation, although I cannot decide whether this stems from the moral or existential absurdity of it all. Do they stop and gape at it all to sate their thirst for the deaths of unacquainted human beings, or is their life so monotonous that they must temporarily suspend their nine to five jive just so that they can get some sort of voyeuristic pleasure of seeing a car wreck in which the crash and impact that from the first person perspective is unwelcome and injurious, but when regurgitated vicariously to the third person to be consumed by the eyes, leaves the observer in welcoming pauses. These white-collar drones merely stop and gape into the maw that is a tragic accident, scavenging upon the torn rubber and steel corpse of the automobile with their intruding eyes, and can see everything from the comfort of their seats, and behind their windshields. So there I have stated the brief glimpses of the psyche of the run-of-the-mill highway driver, but what if this becomes replicated on the mass-scale? The amplification of rubbernecking begins with the first car, where some inconsiderate cubicle-dwelling troglodyte’s turning eyes lock upon the scene, and his feet follow by slowing the brakes, and his indigence and perverse fascination cascades down the highway like a psychic shockwave, and all others follow suit, as the line leader’s stoppage begets the five-second entitlement for all those after. There the multiplicative nightmare accumulates, and a destination in which would be only half-an-hour doubles. After bearing upon the scene, the cars drive onto a highway without congestion, they drive smoothly and without the frustratingly staccato pauses, as if what they saw never happened, the rest of the day is yet to be seen.