I will never understand traffic patterns in Los Angeles if I live to be 100.
Yesterday, as I was drinking my morning coffee and watching the amazing commercial-free BBC Olympics feed via a proxy server (NBC will never stop sucking, so why fight it?), the best boy of Doctors in Love texted me wanting to know if I could come in to cover someone who called in sick.
The answer, of course, was yes, but since Doctors in Love shoots almost, but not quite, all the way across the city, I figured I was in for an incredibly annoying two-hour drive.
Not so much.
I threw on some clothes, headed out the door and didn’t get stuck in any traffic at all.
I’m not kidding. 8 am – the height of rush hour in one of the most traffic-clogged cities on planet Earth and there was no traffic. At all.
I travelled from my house to the set in under an hour.
This, or course, made me nervously scan the sky for horsemen as I drove onto the lot.
Finding none, I parked, grabbed a walkie and proceeded to have a wonderful day working with people who I like a whole lot and don’t get to see nearly often enough.
Then, driving home at 10 pm on a Tuesday, I got stuck in traffic for an hour and a half.