It’s always when you’re in a hurry that the world conspires to slow you down. Take right now, for instance. It’s been a long day, and all I want is to get home, but this stop sign is taking forever to turn green. I’ve been sitting at the intersection for hours, and it still hasn’t changed.
Hurry up, sign!
The cars behind me are honking, because the geese in their horns are getting impatient. It’s no wonder those birds fly south for the winter, instead of driving. If I had wings, I’d do the same.
As a responsible car owner, I respect the rules of the road. When a sign says to merge, I slam into it. I don’t fill Pez dispensers in a no-loading zone. Construction areas are the only place I play with Legos. I follow the law as I understand it, even if that means snorting amphetamines off a “speed bump” sign.
Sadly, the government doesn’t seem to care that our stop signs won’t change color. I brought this up at a recent town-hall meeting, and the microphone was snatched right out of my hand. I tried to yank it back but that county clerk had an iron grip.
My local officials’ failure to listen to my rant points to a larger issue regarding our nation’s crumbling infrastructure. We can’t even get our bridges to stop breaking like Kit Kats each time a tall boat passes! And look at the sorry state of our roads—someone graffitied the asphalt with white lines! Surely the Federal Highway Administration knows who did this, and yet they still allow people to drive between vandalized stripes.
Well, not me—I swerve constantly.
Although it may be too late to change our public-transportation systems, it is on us to be careful behind the wheel, because cars are very powerful. My Camaro is four hundred and fifty horsepower, and that’s a lot of tiny Clydesdales to be galloping in one engine. If they ever got loose, they would trot into grocery stores and bite all the baby carrots. No one wants that.
You also should always use your seatbelt, because it holds the seat’s pants up. In this day and age, it’s not appropriate to sit in a nude chair. As a culture, we know better now.
I must sound like a real square, but I care more about safety than looking cool. Ultimately, if I do something reckless and get myself killed, it will be my family that suffers. I’m the breadwinner, so I need to be around to win the bread contest. Otherwise, my children will never eat sandwiches again. They’ll have to scarf sliced meat and cheese, then squirt mustard into their mouths.
That is not the life I want for them.
As much as I’d love to blow through this intersection, setting a good example is more important, so I will wait as long as it takes for this octagon to cross out the “Stop” on its chest and write “Go.” I just ordered a burrito from the food truck behind me, so I’m good on dinner.
Your move, sign. ♦
