I’m sitting at the stoplight. Ahead of me is a BMW that probably costs more than some houses and definitely has twice the power of my little Honda. Were we to race, that car would, in a flash, leave me staring at its taillights in the distance. The light turns green; I’m slowly releasing pressure from the brake, ready to slide my foot over to the brake; I’m ready to go. And nothing. The car in front of me sits there, as if the driver has confused this bit of pavement for a parking lot.
Is he on his cell phone? Is she in a heated discussion with her partner? Is he scolding his kids? I don’t know. I just know the light been green for a good five to seven seconds now, and she has not moved an inch.
Nothing annoys me more than Greenville drivers at a traffic light. It’s as if the green light is merely a suggestion, as if they interpret a green light to mean, “If you have any desire to move forward, any desire at all, feel free to do so. If not, it’s fine. Just wait. Everyone behind you will wait as well. No rush,” instead of “Go!” When the light turns green, I wonder if that change in the wavelength of the light striking the driver’s eyes has somehow erased his memory, and suddenly he finds himself in a place he’s never been, with this large circular object before him that seems to serve some mysterious purpose that he can’t divine. And those pedals at his feet? Why, they could be for anything. Pressing one of those pedals — especially that narrow one to the far right — could do any number of things. It might propel him into another dimension where he will struggle to survive for a few moments before being crushed into oblivion by the unknown as he cries out, “Why, oh why did I press that pedal?”
I sometimes wonder if there’s a little conversation going on in that car.
“Hey, Bubba, that light. It’s a different color now.”
“Yep.”
“Reckon what we should do?”
“Dunno.”
“Think it might mean something?”
“Dunno.”
“I think it means something. What do you think it might mean?”
“Dunno.”
“Reckon I should do something about it?”
“Like what?”
“Dunno.”
And so the driver sits there meditating while I sit there stewing, my heart rate skyrocketing, my blood pressuring rising like a like a bottle rocket, my face turning multiple shades of red.
One would think it might be a little better once that first car moves out, but it usually isn’t. The second car goes through the same dilemma, wondering what those pedals are for, wondering if he should do something since, after all, that car in front of him has begun moving, wondering what’s for supper, wondering if he paid his cellphone bill, grabbing his cellphone to check.
I’ve driven all over the world. I’ve sat at a traffic light in New York City and learned quickly that as soon as that light turns green, everyone — everyone — goes. It’s a simple process, really: you just watch the brake lights of the car in front of you. As long as the car in front of you is moving, you move.
“Isn’t that tailgating?” some might ask. “Don’t you have to leave at least two car lengths between you and the car in front of you?” That used to be the guideline, but then someone realize that two car lengths at 15 miles an hour is fine while two car lengths at 70 miles an hour will get you killed, so they changed the guideline: pick a point and make sure two seconds pass between the time that back of the car in front of you passes it and the front of your car passes that same point. That means that a distance that is tailgating at a higher speed is fine at a lower speed. Therefore, when the light turns, it’s fine to move the instant the car in front of you moves. You just have to let that distance gradually increase as you pick up speed.
That’s fine advice for the second, third, and fourth drivers at the traffic light, but what about that first driver, who seems to want to go through his entire dental routine including flossing before moving? Why does that driver sit there? Why does that driver infuriate all of us who seem to have even the most basic understanding of safe yet quick driving principles? Could it be because so many people in Greenville County run red lights? Could it be an understandable reaction to many drivers in Greenville County, a yellow light means “speed up! hurry up!” and a red light means “only four more cars can pass”?
But that’s an entirely different rant.