Because apparently, Lubbock drivers are so collectively incapable of navigating a paved road without causing a catastrophe, the Texas Department of Public Safety has launched a covert “surge” operation. Dubbed “Operation Tejas”—which sounds like a Steven Seagal movie that went straight to DVD—this initiative involves busing in troopers to babysit our local officers (why do we pay them so much again?). Our local news, in its infinite pursuit of “just reading the press release,” is framing this as a friendly heads-up for the George Strait concert, but let’s be real: the state is staging an intervention because we’ve turned I-27 into a real-life game of Mario Kart.
We’ve already managed to rack up several traffic fatalities this year, including a lovely weekend where people were playing bumper cars and motorcycle riders were treating the Marsha Sharp flyover like a launchpad. It’s gotten so bad that even the families of troopers are posting on social media about how our driving is a literal biohazard. It’s a special kind of Lubbock pride when the neighbors have to send their husbands over just to make sure we don’t accidentally delete a significant portion of the population before “Amarillo by Morning” hits the speakers.
The timing is perfect for the George Strait shows at Jones AT&T Stadium this weekend. Since the city expects crowds the size of a Tech-Texas game, they’re implementing a “no-refusal” policy and deploying brand-new K-9 teams. Nothing sets the mood for a night of “Check Yes or No” like a German Shepherd aggressively sniffing your trunk while a trooper writes you a ticket. It’s a multi-agency effort to ensure that the only thing “all my exes live in” is a different zip code, rather than a local cemetery.
Our local officials are touting this as a way for everyone to “have fun and be safe,” which is law enforcement-speak for “we know you’re going to get hammered and try to drive a dually through a fence.” While the news media nods along and films B-roll of patrol cars, nobody is asking why it takes a country music legend and a literal army of state troopers to keep us from hitting each other for forty-eight hours.
If we need a statewide tactical deployment just to survive a concert, maybe the “Hub City” should consider rebranding to “The City Where Yield Signs are Suggestions and Life is Cheap”?
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