Hell is a never-ending traffic jam

Coming back to school, I left myself 20 extra minutes to get there so I wouldn't be late for my 8:00 shift at the writing center. I was making good time; not my best, but pretty good. I was going to be on time, probably even a little bit early. And then I hit exit 32, and quite suddenly the car in front of me came to a complete stop. I slammed on the brakes and the two jars of jam Mama Swede insisted on giving me went flying. This was around 7:15. By the time I hit exit 34, it was 8:15. Yes, that's right: one hour, and I traveled a grand total of two exits. I mean, by the time I got out of this thing, I just wanted to break something. Fortunately my car and my self were not on my list of things I would enjoy breaking, so don't worry. This is not going to be one of Those Stories. But I felt sort of bad about how angry I was sitting in the traffic jam from hell when I saw the cause of it. Just before exit 34, they had closed down two lanes and there were at least half a dozen cop cars along with a whole bunch of other vehicles. The scene was complete with flashing lights and flares, causing the pavement to glitter threateningly with broken glass. Then I came to the accident. One car looked like the top had been ripped off it and the other one was on its side. It didn't look good for whoever had been in those cars; that's all I can say.

Well, I made it to my shift, forty minutes late. Which sucks because now I can't get paid for those forty minutes, and I really need the money if we're going to drive to Cali this summer. Ironic that I would still want to drive 3000 miles out there and 3000 miles back after seeing those cars own each other and after witnessing my own hardcore frustration at bad traffic situations. Buuuut the Pacific beckons.... and how can I refuse?