The 25 Miles Per Hour Speed Limit is Killing Me
I am a Native New Yorker. That’s not a typo. It should
to be capitalized. It’s not pride in an accident of birth but it’s staying here
long after many friends and family members have pulled up stakes and moved to
more hospitable climes. I survived 9/11, the mortgage meltdown, and a nanny
mayor who would be king. I survived a house fire, Hurricane Sandy, and the
Polar Vortex. But New York City’s 25 miles per hour speed limit has got me
thinking about packing my bags.
Safety. Yeah, I get it. A lower speed limit saves
lives. I’ve seen the ads:
“74% of pedestrians hit by vehicles are struck in crosswalks.”
What stronger argument can be made for jay walking,
the birthright of every New Yorker?
Look, I’m not a speed demon. If I’d been cast to
star in the movie Speed instead of
Sandra bullock we’d all be dead. I’m not fast and furious. I’m slow and
curious. But driving slower in a fast-paced city is stressful. Dropping down
from 30mph to 25mph doesn’t sound like a lot – a mere five measly miles – but it is. What does going 25 miles-an-hour
feel like? It feels like I’m driving with a flat tire; like I’m always slowing
down to look at a building address or read a street sign; like I’m part of a never-ending
funeral procession; like I’m driving slow enough to text, tweet, and read email.
It’s worth noting here that the minimum speed for
cruise control is 30 miles an hour.
Now, I’m worried less about pedestrians and more
about other drivers, specifically the ones behind me who either don’t know
about the new city speed limit or don’t care. These days there seem to be quite
a few folks ridding my bumper so tight they can’t read my license plate. Has anyone
begun tallying the increase in rear-end accidents? And let’s not forget the
apoplectic road ragers whose palms have taken root onto the horns of their
steering wheels perhaps hoping to intimidate me into breaking the law for their
convenience. I try to avoid getting tickets, but it seems like some drivers
have opted to run a tab. (And before I forget: congratulations to New York City
on it’s newest revenue generator.)
Driving in The Big Fruit has always been unpleasant.
So, why do I do it? I live in The Boonies. The New York City version of The
Boonies is anyplace that doesn’t have a 2-1-2 area code. New York City has
five, count them, five boroughs: Brooklyn, The Bronx, Staten Island, Queens, and
Narnia…. I mean Manhattan. When people outside New York ask if you live in The
City, they are not counting the “outer” boroughs. (When people from New York
ask if you live in The City they’re not counting Staten Island. Personally, I
like Staten Island. If it weren’t for Staten Island, Queens would be the lowest
borough on the cool totem pole.)
I feel like I have to drive because things are different
outside of Manhattan. I’m not saying Southeast Queens is Thunderdome, but who wants to come home to the hood by way of
multiple trains and then wait for a bus late at night if they don’t have to? My
vagina, a worrier by nature, is not a fan of that option.
And so I drive even though I’m painfully aware that
it takes people from New Jersey less time to drive into the Promised Land then
it does for me when I leave my corner of the Shire. According to my GPS, on a
good day, it should take me only 25 minutes to get into The Emerald City. It’s
never a good day. Traffic, accidents, construction, and then once I arrive at
my destination I have to play the parking game. Finding a free or metered
parking space close to my destination is worthy of a journal entry:
“Dear Diary, I found one! I found My Precious!”
I used to ameliorate the aforementioned
difficulties of my drive by listening to music. The lower speed limit however makes
that challenging. How, you ask? Well, let’s just say that it’s hard to drive
slowly to upbeat music. So toe-tapping, up-tempo tunes are now out of the
question (unless I want to risk the ticket). My choices are silence, talk radio
(yeah, that’s relaxing), news (that’s always cheerful), and lite-FM-kill-yourself
love songs.
Silence it is then.
But now I’m afraid I’m going to fall asleep at the
wheel and hit a pedestrian. Thankfully, though, at 25 miles an hour, they’ll
live.
The Urban Erma, the longest running column on StageTimeMagazine.com, was created and written by stand-up comedian Leighann Lord. Listen to the podcast on iTunes and Stitcher Radio. Get her e-books on AMAZON!
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