Ranting and Raving
By The Incensed Witch
Bonjour, my brethren!
If you are unaware, "bonjour" is a French salutation, translating to "good day." Congratulations. You've learned something, you graceless heathen.
Whew! I'm sorry, that was completely uncalled for. However, this is the Ranting and Raving column, so you really shouldn't be too surprised. I recently went to visit a few Muggle friends from my summers along the shore and brought back some new choice words and phrases as souvenirs (along with some seashells, and sand that even the most intense Scourgify cannot get rid of). Upon returning home, I was informed my article's theme was to be about magic, so I thought to myself, "What is the most magical thing about the Muggle world, self?" If I were truly spiteful to my audience, it would have been about a certain "naturally occurring granular material," but I chose instead to tackle something much bigger, more fantastical, and utterly frustrating that Muggles willingly put themselves through on a regular basis: this beautiful* thing called the traffic system.
Now, I'm sure you've heard all about the various types of Muggle transportation -- planes, trains, buses, cars, ponies, expresses, leapfrogs, and something called "piggyback rides." Why they have to add that it's on the pig's back confounds me ("Do pigs not usually have backs? If you don't say it, will people assume you're traveling on a backless pig??") but then, a lot of things humans do leave me absolutely dumbfounded. Let's discuss a few with regards to the this "system" that seems to resemble a live-action game of human pinball:
LIGHTS, LIGHTS, LIGHTS.
Here we have Muggles being held hostage by an ugly, dangling lantern that seems to have an affinity for the colors red (clashes with everything; foolhardy; brash), yellow (an unattractive mustard sort; also, a fierce friend), and green (gorgeous; cunning; clearly the most ambitious). This part is actually fun if it's always green, horrible if it's red, and Merlin forbid it turns yellow midway across -- the sheer levels of speed utilized (close to, if not matching, that of light) to get through will have you saying goodbye to your lunch, because it's not like your stomach needed it anyway.
ACTUAL TRAFFIC.
It's called the traffic system for a reason, and that is because a majority of the time is spent in exactly that. Imagine a race with a car, a snail, a sloth, and a piece of wood. You think you're going to win -- of course you do, there's no competition! An hour later, and the snail's got a prominent lead, the plank of pressed bark has the wind blowing it to second place, and the sloth's one elongated pinky claw ahead of you. So much for the "open" road.
ARITHMETIC.
There are a number of mathematic sequences that are necessary to perform certain actions with these "vehicles."
Some examples:
(speed - stop forcefully) + (jerk lever downwards x annoy friend with incessant clicking sound) = steps one takes before turning left
[(speed + speed + speed) / (license x registration)] = five new frown lines plus a ticket
DIRECTIONS.
No broom compasses? No regular compasses? This is why a simple trip to the grocer's down the lane has people ending up in the Bermuda Triangle.
SLOWLY LOSING ONE'S SANITY.
Need I say more?
After spending many hours at the mercy of the whims of this system, I came to two conclusions. One, there is absolutely no way this whole traffic thing isn't magical in origin. Two, the magic in question is most definitely a collective Confundus charm on the entire world population, because there is simply no other way people would willingly put themselves through such monstrosities just to get places. As though staying inside your house for all of eternity is such a horrible life to lead!
Thankfully for me, my personal Mediwitch recognized my rising stress levels (she says this is harmful, though nothing could harm me more than her horrible robes already do) and sent me an emergency Portkey. I rolled out of my friend's backseat while she communicated via hand gesture with the driver currently trying to swerve into her lane, ran across the highway, and activated it in a convenience store restroom.
Destination? Home. Estimated distance? Seven hundred miles away. Length of travel? Three minutes. Skin off my back? Absolutely none. That, my readers, is a truly magical thing.
Always remember to rant responsibly,
The Incensed Witch
*"Oh my god, I love your traffic, where did you get it? ...That is the ugliest effing system I've ever seen."