The Universe Conspires Against Me

Yesterday, I needed to get my oil changed. The last time I did this, I was held hostage in the garage bay by skoal-steeped oil changer guys blasting the local country station. My hot, whiny kids did all they could to make the experience as miserable as possible.

This time, I swore I'd do it differently.
I dropped the four of them off at Marilla pool, and then took one for the team as I was held in the garage bay through: Taylor Swift, Brad Paisley, Rascal Flatts, Randy Houser (ten-minute-oil-change, my ass!), Blake Shelton, and wtf- Darius Rucker?! When did he go country?

I got back to the pool just in time to grab the kids out and head to Fairmont for the swim lesson. I was so proud of myself for managing it all and actually being on time, with no screaming, for once.
As I got on the interstate, I was welcomed with this sight:

The traffic, bumper-to-bumper, stopped dead.
And so we crawled to Fairmont...

... At 10mph. And we were late for the swim lesson.

What was the cause? An accident? An old man in a hat?

They were painting lines on the road.
Yeah, from 5pm to 6pm.