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Why do we call it a "traffic jam" anyway? It sounds so innocent, like a jar of strawberry preserves you'd spread on your morning toast. I don't know about you, but I've never felt the urge to put traffic jam on a bagel – unless it's to symbolize my commute.
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There's something oddly comforting about a traffic jam – it's like a mobile support group for people who are running late. You exchange sympathetic glances with fellow commuters as if to say, "Yeah, I also thought I could squeeze one more errand in.
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Have you ever noticed that when you're stuck in traffic, you suddenly become an expert on every car model around you? "Oh, look at that Prius. Nice choice. Bet they're regretting not getting the hybrid now, stuck in this carbon monoxide parade.
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Traffic jams are like nature's way of telling you, "Hey, you thought you had control, huh?" It's the universe's little reminder that no matter how much horsepower you've got under the hood, you're still going to be stuck singing along to "Bohemian Rhapsody" with strangers at a complete standstill.
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Ever notice how people start accessorizing their cars in a traffic jam? Suddenly, that fuzzy steering wheel cover becomes a therapeutic stress ball, and your rearview mirror transforms into a makeshift makeup station. Because if you're going to be late, might as well look fabulous arriving.
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You know you're stuck in a serious traffic jam when you start contemplating whether you could survive living out of your car. Suddenly, your backseat becomes a potential bedroom, and the glove compartment? Well, that's your kitchen pantry. Who needs a commute when you can have a mobile tiny home?
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Traffic jams are the only time when you wish your car came with a popcorn machine. Just imagine sitting there, watching the gridlock drama unfold, munching on popcorn, and thinking, "Well, at least I've got front-row seats to the world's slowest movie.
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In a traffic jam, your car's blinker becomes your only means of communication. It's like Morse code for drivers. Left blinker: "I'm trying to merge, please let me in." Right blinker: "Oops, my exit! Can I cut across four lanes of standstill traffic?
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Traffic jams make us all philosophers. You sit there contemplating the meaning of life, wondering if the guy in the car next to you is also pondering the same deep questions, or if he's just thinking about what's for dinner.
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You ever notice how a traffic jam turns everyone into an unintentional dance troupe? Suddenly, we're all doing the "Car Congestion Cha-Cha" – two inches forward, one inch back. It's like a bizarre synchronized traffic ballet, and we're all just trying not to step on each other's gas pedals.
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