At the intersection of Manitou and Buffalo Roads hangs a traffic light where lines of cars are often queued up to turn. It is the one break you can catch if you get stuck behind one of the undriven drivers who insist on shuffling along at 30 in the 55 zone. If they go straight, you can turn. If they turn, you can go straight (no guarantees you will not end up behind another leisure driver).
While I normally prefer to be not under the gun to get somewhere, the reality has been that I am running late because of any zillion of reasons, and someone is depending on me to get somewhere by a certain time, so I cannot afford the luxury of poking along as if I have all day to get somewhere. That's what I tell myself.
I try not to sputter and fuss, but I can't help carrying on a one-sided conversation with the annoying driver ahead of me. "Come on, lady. Put your foot on the gas pedal. Its 55 on this road, not 20 (OK, I exaggerate). At least have the decency to let me by when there's an opening!" This serves to elevate my blood pressure fairly well while not affecting the offending driver in the least. Pointless but human.
Today, the light was red, and I impatiently waited for a chance to zoom off the moment green showed its face, the offending slow car having pulled into the turn lane and disappeared eons ago. Of course, I was totally out of order, and working to calm down and live in the moment, and not yell at the boy who got up late and puddled around getting ready. (Can you tell I hate to be late?).
At long last the light turned green, and I was about to tromp on the gas when it flickered off. What? Then it flickered on again, and off, and on. Go. Don't go. Go. No, wait! How silly. I pulled away laughing as the light continued its indecisive flickering. Maybe it was trying to tell me not to take things so seriously. Whether you go fast or slow, the world will not come to an end if you are three minutes late.
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