October 14, 2010. 4:17 pm. 405-South. Meter on. Traffic moving, but just barely.
Growing up in Southern California, you learn at a very young age what traffic is. You learn how to avoid it, when to go, when to wait. So then by the time you’re 16, you’ve got a pretty good idea of when rush hour is, because you never want to caught stuck on the 55 North at 5 in afternoon on a Wednesday. Well in that case, I commit driving suicide on a daily basis. My classes continently start and end when rush hour is just under way, so I get to spend much quality time with truckers, out-of-towners, and business men who look at me funny. As if living at home didn’t already stink.
For any of you who make the commute like I do, you know what I mean. And for those of you who oh-so-nicely live in Mesa, Middle Earth, or the apartments across the street, I’ll let you in on a secret: people are VERY bad at driving in the morning or after they’ve spent an entire day at work. No one wants to sit in bumper to bumper traffic from Culver to Alicia; while 18-wheelers cut you off after you’ve spent the day in a too air-conditioned asylum. And to top it off, when I get home, I come to my mother who nags me to do my chores, my father who wont give me the iPod I got for free with my Mac, and my little brother who STILL, after 14 years, enjoys bothering me. Don’t get me wrong, living at home has its perks. I get a home-cooked meal everyday, I get to sit in my room and realize that it’s double the size of the dorms and yet I get it to myself, and, best of all, I get my own bathroom. But even more than that, I get to see my mother’s happiness because she can see me everyday, I get to explain to my dad who Eminem is and what types of music there are, and I get to hear high school stories from my brother about all the things he’s experiencing as a fellow freshman. And at the end of the day I get to drive down the 405-South, with the windows down, because no ones moving too fast. I sit and listen to the news of the day, the weather reports that are never right, and belt out to some Taylor Swift in between.
So, every morning, when I turn right on Campus and see the sign that says “University of California, Irvine” and people walking around with backpacks, I have something to be excited about, because I’m coming to school. With as much as I miss out on by being home every night, I get to make up for it everyday that I make that right turn. It’s weird to think that this school, the ONLY school I didn’t want to go to because I knew I’d have to live at home, can make me this happy. And even though UCI isn’t technically where I live, it’s becoming my home, because I think I get the same feeling as everyone else when I walk around Ring Road to the Student Center and there’s music playing and something is always going on. I run into friends in Aldrich Park and sit on the 6th floor of the Science Library pretending to study. I go to some club meetings and miss out on others and I’ve tried the food in Pippins and the Mesa Commons. Because everyday, I try to have the time of my life. And yet I know I have to fill up my car every Monday, and if I come to school after 9, it will be hard to find parking, and that traffic just plain sucks.
So, October 14, 2010, just a foggy and cold day (by Southern California standards, at least), I’m in my car driving down the freeway, put in a CD I forgot was there, sip my green tea latte from Starbucks, and smile. No more yelling at the other drivers who can never hear me, no more getting frustrated with the UPS driver who didn’t see me there, no more hating traffic, because it’s a part of what I have to do. Everyday it’s a right turn and I’m home. Because I’m experiencing college just like everyone else, mine is just one freeway exit at a time.
Monica Makar
1st year
Pharmaceutical Sciences Major
French Minor