Cars: The Last Bastion of Selfish Commutes

Let’s get something straight: the car is not just a hunk of metal that gets you from A to B. No, my friend, it’s the last sacred space where you can be completely, unapologetically selfish. In a world where we’re expected to share everything from our workspace to our Wi-Fi, our opinions to our “authentic selves” on social media... your car is the ultimate fortress of solitude. It’s the one place left where you can blast terrible music, eat a breakfast burrito with both hands, and mutter obscenities at strangers, all while pretending you’re the main character in a film that nobody else would pay to see.

Let’s not kid ourselves. Public transport is the great leveller, and the future, sure. It’s also the great exposure therapy for introverts, germaphobes, and anyone who values personal space. The bus is a rolling petri dish; the train is a mobile library of passive-aggressive sighs and questionable odours. You’re forced to share air, armrests, and existential dread with the masses. No matter how many inspirational posters they slap on the walls of the tube, nothing will ever make the 7:42 to Leeds feel like a “community experience”.

But behind the wheel? That’s your kingdom. Your rules. You can be a saint or a villain. You can let that old lady merge in front of you and feel like the Dalai Lama, or you can speed up just enough to keep that BMW in your blind spot and feel like a petty god. The road is a lawless wasteland, and you are its warlord. At least until you hit the next set of traffic lights and remember you’re late for that appointment.

Let’s talk about the commute itself. In theory, it’s supposed to be a necessary evil. In practice, it’s a ritual (where have I heard that before) of self-affirmation. The car commute is the only time of day when it’s socially acceptable to sit in silence and do nothing productive. You’re not expected to answer emails, attend Zoom calls, or “circle back” on anything. You can just sit, stew, and zone out. It’s basically like using a mindfulness app, but with more honking and zooming down to the local Tesco's.

Of course, the world wants you to feel bad about it, and rightfully so. “Think of the environment!” they cry, as if you haven’t already been guilt-tripped into buying a reusable coffee cup and sorting your recycling into seventeen different bins. Yes, cars belch out CO2. Yes, traffic jams are a blight on civilisation. But let’s be brutally honest with oursleves: the only thing worse than sitting in traffic is sitting on a bus next to someone eating a tuna sandwich at 8:00am on a warm summer morning, whilst the school kid who ran for the bus is holding the bar over their heads, armpits dewy, moist and in your left nostril.

And let’s not forget the jealousy we feel for the performative eco-warriors, silently judging you back from their Dutch bikes and scooters. They glide past, smug in their Lycra, as you sit in your car, blasting the AC and trying to ignore the fact that your Spotify playlist is 90% guilty pleasures you wouldn't even tell your mum about, and 10% podcasts you’ll never actually finish. They want you to feel like a dinosaur, clinging to your fossil-fuelled habits. But deep down, you know the truth: cycling is great until it rains, and public transport is “efficient” until you actually need to rely on it.

There’s a peculiar honesty to driving. You can’t really blame anyone else for your misery. If you’re stuck in traffic, it’s your own fault for joining the herd. If you miss your exit, that’s on you and maybe the satnav (but mostly you). There’s a freedom in that kind of responsibility. Nobody’s going to ask you to move over, turn down your music, or stop talking to yourself like a maniac. It’s your bubble, your rules and anything goes.

Of course, the car commute is also the last socially acceptable way to be a little bit antisocial. You can be on your own, cut someone off, flip them the bird, and then never see them again. Try that on the bus and you’ll end up on someone’s TikTok, immortalised as Angry Commuter #47. In your car, you’re anonymous. You’re just another face behind the glass, another story nobody will ever bother to hear. Sometimes thats incredibly refreshing and nearly as liberating as taking your trousers off before a zoom call with your boss.

But the car commute isn’t just about selfishness. It’s about survival. It’s about carving out a little slice of the world that’s just for you. In a society that demands constant connection, the car is a refuge for the disconnected. It’s a place where you can scream, cry, laugh, or just sit in silence and watch the world go by. It’s a ritual of therapy without the hourly rate.

Let’s talk about the rituals. The sacred morning coffee, balanced precariously in the cupholder. The playlist, meticulously curated for every mood, rage, melancholy, euphoria, existential crisis... The snacks, hidden in the glovebox for emergencies (or boredom). The drive-thru breakfast, eaten with one hand while steering with the other, because you’re late and you don’t care. These are the small acts of rebellion that make the daily grind bearable.

And then there’s the fantasy. The daydream that maybe, just maybe, you’ll keep driving past the office, past the city, past all your responsibilities, and just see where the road takes you. Of course, you never do. You’re an adult, with bills and deadlines and a boss who thinks “flexible working” means answering emails at midnight. But for a few fleeting moments, the car gives you the illusion of freedom. And sometimes, that’s just enough to stop thoughts of the swerve towards the central reservation at 60 miles per hour, right before rush hour.

Of course, the world is changing. The rise of remote work, the death of the daily commute, the slow, inevitable march toward self-driving cars and smart cities. The car is becoming an endangered species, a relic of a more selfish age. Soon, we’ll all be expected to share rides, share data, share everything. The idea of one person in one car, burning petrol and listening to terrible music, will seem as quaint and ass-backwards as smoking in the office or renting DVDs from Blockbuster.

But until that day comes, I’ll keep my car keys close. I’ll cherish my selfish commute, my fortress of solitude, my mobile confession booth. Because in a world that wants us to be constantly available, constantly connected, constantly “on,” the car is one of the very few places left where you can just be. Be selfish, be silent, be whoever you want to be.

So next time someone tells you to “do your bit” and take the bus, smile politely and nod. You know its coming one day. But for now you can get in your car, turn up the music, and enjoy the last bastion of selfish commutes. Because eventually, when the robots are driving us everywhere and the only music allowed is algorythm approved “focus beats,” you’ll look back and remember the good old days, when the company on your commute was just me, myself and I.

"And really, isn’t that what freedom’s all about?" he says, on a last lonely commute to the bicycle shop, deeply pondering how you stop chafing in lycra, where you fit all your 'bits' and contemplating falling down a new rabbit hole of EDC bicycle tools...