Getting Out of Atlanta Chaos
Woke up stupid early last Thursday, 5:30 AM sharp, feeling like a zombie. Figured beating Atlanta traffic was the only way this drive wouldn’t suck. Chugged lukewarm coffee while stuffing my backpack—phone charger, half-dead power bank, sad-looking granola bar. Google Maps chirped “2 hours 15 minutes to Augusta.” Yeah right. Pulled my old Honda onto I-20 East just as the sky started turning gray. Mistake number one: trusting Google’s sunshine-and-rainbows estimate.
Highway Crawl & Random Stops
Got cocky when I breezed past Six Flags. Big rigs started swarming like ants near Lithonia. Crawled for 20 minutes staring at brake lights—some jackknifed trailer near Exit 68. Cussed under my breath. Needed caffeine. Pulled off at some sad gas station in Conyers around 7 AM. Spilled coffee on my jeans pumping gas. Felt like a cartoon character. Got back on the road, GPS now smugly saying “2 hours 40 minutes.” Felt like flipping off the phone.
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Stuff That Blew Up My Time:
- Truck bottleneck near Madison (seriously, why?)
- Roadwork hell outside Greensboro—single lane, everyone rubbernecking
- Random pee break ’cause that coffee hit hard
- Waze rerouting me through backroads near Thomson that looked like horror movie sets
When Augusta Finally Appeared
Thought I saw civilization near Grovetown. Felt relief. GPS said 15 minutes. LIES. Downtown Augusta traffic at 9:45 AM felt like Atlanta’s ugly cousin. Got honked at twice merging onto Wrightsboro Road. Rolled into my buddy’s gravel driveway just shy of 10 AM. Clocked it: 4 freaking hours, 21 minutes door-to-door. Car smelled like stale coffee and regret.
So yeah, Google’s “2 hour 15” fantasy? Pure fiction unless you drive at 3 AM with a cop escort. Real talk: budget 3.5 hours minimum. Better 4. Pack snacks. And maybe therapy. Reminds me of that soul-crushing job I quit last year—management kept promising “efficiency” while everything burned. Some things just take way longer than they should, man.
