Call me Bitter Bubble Boy. I reside in the small comfort zone of the 10-minute, 4 mile area between my house and work.

Back in Seattle in my early 30’s, I had a 30-minute-to-work-45-minute-home commute. That got extended when my office decided to move even farther away, which turned into a 45-minute-to-work-1-hour-to-get-home. I decided that I didn’t want to do that anymore, so I changed states, and got jobs with commutes of 30 minutes, 1 hours, 45 minutes, 15 minutes, and then finally to my current 10 minute one. The older I get, the more I want to remain in a tight, tiny bubble.

I realized that, because at many different mile markers in my life, I spent more time in my car commuting than I spent playing video games. That was the reason I turned into a psychotic, bitter rage monster for so long. Now, I’m a much more calm, bitter rage monster.

Many would say commuting was at least a way for me to venture into the world. The problem is, I’m not Indiana Jones, low key professor by day, world traveling archeologist by night. I’m the anti-Indy, a low-key paid ads manager by day, even lower-key indoor garden slug at night. My goal is to eventually get Google maps so depressed by the few locations I visit, that it stops sending me my monthly update.

Google to BB: You only spent time in your home to work bubble this month…It’s not worth sending you updates anymore.

BB to Google: Thanks. One less email from you every month.

Unfortunately, there is one specific time of year where I have to venture out to other places, but not voluntarily. In the fall, my son plays football, and he insists that we attend his games. The only reason I support him in those games is that I insist that he get a scholarship to play college football, so he can get his golden parachute of NIL money, and I can take my finder’s fee (or agent fee if he wants to go that way) and retire ASAP as possible.

Because he plays football, I have to venture outside my bubble and visit various parts of the state that are outside of my zone. I don’t have physical ankle bracelet that alerts the police when I leave the area, but I do have an internal ankle bracelet that alerts my anxiety when I do.

Yesterday, I was reminded why I don’t leave my designated bubble area. My wife asked me to deliver some packages to the post office and UPS. For the post office, I normally do those early in the morning, because I wake up super early and the traffic is almost non existent (pro tip, if you hate traffic, get up earlier than everyone). It’s also great for avoiding people, because the lobby is open, and nobody is there, IE an introverts dream. It’s my version of a drive by shooting, except it’s a walk-by drop off.

UPS is usually even easier, because they are closer, I barely have to get out of my car, and I don’t have to go inside. The one exception, when the package is bigger than the dropbox, is my nightmare. Then I have venture off to the OTHER SIDE OF THE TRACKS UPS. In the dark of the night it would even be okay, because again, no people. But yesterday, I had to bring it to the other UPS after work, where there are not only people, but zombie people. You know, the ones that are bitter, angry commuters.

Yesterday decided to remind my why I hate leaving the Bitter Bubble.

I should have known it was going to be bad, when I left and the normal traffic was way worse. Most days when I leave, the line up to leave my first street is a little long, but not all the way back to the lake. Another street many people use diverted all its traffic to our street.

Normally that is okay, because I have a secret back street way to get home, the lake drive. But since I wasn’t going home right away, that is the opposite of the way I needed to go. But there was no way, I was going to stick my cars nose into other cars business, because I’m non-confrontational. So I went the anti-way just so I could get to the other side of the tracks, IE the Outerlands, IE the Zombie infested world, IE where all the traffic is. The main street in our town, the entrance to the freeway, the Land of No Return. The last place I wanted to be at 6:00pm.

I had to wait four cycles to get through stop lights. I had to actually plan out routes. I had to pay attention, instead of be on autopilot, where I can watch Tik Toks and still avoid running into cars in front of me.

I finally navigated my way through the rush hour, pushed my way through the zombies at UPS, and threw my package in there to use as a diversion, before they attacked me. Only one more package to go in the hellish nightmarescape, and I can return to my safety bubble.

The problem there was I had to take a left hand turn. No one should ever have to take a left hand turn in the Outerlands at 6:00 pm. After what seemed like an eternity I got the post office, I made it to the post office and dropped it in the dropbox, while artfully dodging zombies, like a running back sliding through a defensive line.

The touchdown wouldn’t happen until I got home though. It wasn’t one of those drives where a receivers coast in for an easy touchdown. This is a last second pitch fest where players have to keep pitching it backwards weave in and out of other players.

All of a sudden, I got PTSD, and transformed into my former Psychotic Bitter Rage Monster where I would get so mad that I would pull my steering wheel out of its sockets. My brain lit on fire with every curse word I could think of, and many new invented ones, and I turned into The Red Hulk, as hot as a California fire.

When I crossed to the other side of the tracks, I turned back into my Bruce Banner form, and I could finally feel my face again. I was back in my Bitter Ben Bubble and I finally felt like my regular Bitter self. I made a Lemon Pledge that I would no longer will I venture back into that chaotic Mad Max-like universe in rush hour ever again. I’m Ben’s Bitter Bubble Boy from now on.

Next time, I’m just stuffing that package in the drop box, no matter how big it is. Bitter Bubble Boy ain’t got time for that.

Speaking of stuffing things into something way too small, here are your Bitter Friday Giftures…

Call me Bitter Bubble Boy…

After having years of horrific commutes…

I was finally able to snag a job…

Many would say…

And that it fills your Google Maps…

But if I drove to less places…

Yesterday I was reminded why…

I had to deliver a package…

Where the…

And…

I suddenly remembered why…

I got some really bad…

When I was faced with my old nememsis…

And all of a sudden…

Luckily…

I was able to…

Once I returned back to…

ARRRRGGGHHHHHH

Ben’s Bitter Bubble Boy