Anything Lime



The Aftermath of a Red-Light “Situation”

After having a few days to reflect, I think that I have come to terms with the details and am ready (as I’ll ever be) to share my little mishap.

First, the background information. When I drive, I abide by the rules of the road. I don’t know why, but it’s probably a combination of the speeding tickets I’ve collected over the years and the fact that my dad, the slowest driver in the history of the automobile, taught me how to drive. I mean it. He has set his own personal maximum speed limit of 40 mph regardless of where he is. Even on the expressway. Even when he’s driving someone to the hospital who’s in labor. You get my point. He doesn’t even dare leave a toll booth until the light flashes green and the words “Thank You” appear. And I, sadly, have taken after him in his inability to break the traffic laws. Except for the speeding. That’s from mom. I speed gladly every day. But that’s where my traffic law-breaking habits end.

Maybe I’m afraid of cops. Who likes getting caught breaking the law? You can ask the shoplifters I busted at Vanity during my retail days that it’s not a good day. In fact, it’s downright humiliating.

“Hey, where is that sweatshirt you just tried on?”

“I don’t know. I guess I put it back or left it in the dressing room.”

“Dude, the sensor is in your hand. And I can see the sleeve protruding from underneath your shirt. And your shirt is see through. And the tag is hanging out. And I heard you whisper to your friend that you were going to steal it while I was outside of your dressing room with my ear pressed to the door.”

Anyway, back to my story. I am a rule follower, I keep off the grass, and so on. So when I approach an intersection with a sign that says, “No Turn On Red,” you can bet your buns I won’t.

I pull off the interstate onto the exit ramp on my way to work (probably a few minutes late), and into one of the four lanes at the end of the ramp, a no-turn-on-red intersection. Two of the lanes turn right, one turns left and one goes straight back onto the interstate. Pretty simple expressway 101. So I was in the left-most right turn lane, if that makes sense, cricking my neck to look at the stop light positioned high and across the intersection and to the far left. (or, as Beyonce would say, “to the left to the left.”) Anyway, so a few seconds go by, I’m still waiting, and I see what looks like an ambulance pull up behind me. Within seconds I am given the, “Go” signal by the ambulance, which didn’t sound so much like “Hello friend, would you kindly advance forward so that I might be on my way?” as it did like “HOOOOOONNNKKK!!!” But I’d like to think he meant well.

I got a little knot in my stomach. Am I blocking an ambulance? No. No lights on, no emergency situation, just an antsy ambulance looking to be on his way. “HOOOONK!” He beeped again, so I did it. I went. I succumbed to the ambulance, which, I found out after turning and watching him switch lanes and speed by, wasn’t an ambulance but a police vehicle in the shape of an ambulance. Great! Just great! A cop just peer-pressured me into breaking the law!

I kept my cool and let out a sigh of relief when I parked my car at work. This was the first incident in a three-incident series.

The second happened only two days later, but this time I insisted on keeping my ground. “HOOOOOOOOOOOONK HOOOOOOOOOONK HOOOOOOOONK!” came from the champagne-colored Camry behind me. I flared my arms in sheer madness. “STOP HONKING I’M NOT TURNING RIGHT ON RED!” Meanwhile, all the cars around me are going. They’re all turning right on red. I can barely count them out of the corner of my eye while I’m rubber-necking to see the stoplight at my left. Finally, it turned green, and I continued on my way. I tried my best not to make contact with the impatient honker who was quickly approaching my right side. Let it go. Just breathe. He’ll probably die of some horrible disease and you’ll probably get a promotion.

The third time was unlike the others for reasons to be revealed later. A silver Nissan Quest, aka a minivan, pulled up behind me. I kid you not when I say that hell hath no fury like a soccer mom late for work who hasn’t yet had her coffee, because as soon as her van pulled up behind me, she laid on the horn, a piercing siren that haunted me for the longest 11 seconds of my life. So there I was, hyperventilating and flailing in a hopeless attempt to get some mercy shed upon me by this wretched driver, when I looked directly above me, and I mean that literally, because I looked THROUGH MY SUNROOF to notice there was a right turn signal that I have NEVER seen before IN MY LIFE! What the bloody hell was going on? How have I never noticed that?! How can it be that I’ve never, in the six months I’ve been making this drive that I’ve NEVER correctly navigated this intersection?

I didn’t realize that when I took a break from life to ponder, the mysterious, come-out-of-nowhere traffic signal was still green, and the impatient wench behind me was still relentlessly lying on her horn. So I did the only thing I could do, I smiled and putted along the road. NOT! I don’t live in Candy Land! I covered my face in shame and tried not to look as she drove up next to me flashing gang signs and throwing old juice boxes at my car.

Go Go Gadget Copter!

No avail.

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Comments

  1. * Aimee says:

    AP style tip: also known as is abbreviated as aka. No periods. Weird.
    You’ve written a.k.a. twice in your blog so far, and I have a terrible addiction to AP style.

    | Reply Posted 9 years, 5 months ago


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