I ride the bus to school most mornings and most mornings the traffic is rather, if not very bad. So I’d consider myself an expert in at least one field of study – that which I have christened trafficology. Trafficology not only observes the physical, mechanical shifts in vehicular congestion, but also examines the sociological motivations of each, taking contextual analysis to profound depths. For example: the forty-something year old man in an unfashionable sportscoat driving an old Toyota has forgotten to indicate his intention to turn left at the intersection. This causes the woman in the red smart car to curse in exasperation before speeding ahead. What is interesting to the trafficologist is not simply a matter of calculated constants, but its social applications. So whilst the mechanics can be configured, there were specific motivators behind the old man’s course of inaction. Further extrapolation would reveal the coffee stains on his sportscoat – the result of a frazzled morning – this and the uncombed state of his hair both indicate a detachment from reality. The old man in question is otherwise mentally occupied with introspective worries, reducing external stimuli to irrelevance. His internal ruminations can be factored using a highly sophisticated collection of formulae far too complicated to explain here. This mathematical quantity, called the ‘Individual State Factor’, is used in conjunction with the woman’s ISF and several external constants to predict the future, as far as traffic is concerned. I don’t pretend to have mastered the ever evolving field, but I am considered by my colleagues to be on the frontier and am the only trafficologist with a first class honours accreditation from The Guild of Trafficology. You could say I’m a pretty big deal, but most people don’t appreciate academia. It’s a tough life, but I’ve decided my intellectual gifts were far too valuable not to impart on the world. It’s a noble pursuit, one without glamour, but one I must engage lest traffic goes unnoticed.