One of the games that I used to play when I had the P.O.V. size of “ground level” was Red light, Green light, GO! I’m not going to lie to you, but I just finished three rounds of playing that about two hours ago in my front yard. It got a little intense during the last few minutes of the ending session, and was close to defeating that old stop light, buuuut no go. I have learned that there is virtually no difference between fantasy and reality when it comes to traffic signals. Just ask the big poppas on the street corners who regulate my stop n’ go driving each morning, afternoon, evening…Oh heck, anytime, really, how I react to its shenanigans. Don’t believe the stories that it tells you involving cops because stop lights tend to misshape the truth like a pair of stretch pants worn by a debut “Biggest Loser” contestant. Now, I understand that these lights have to work some long hours by standing around twiddling their thumbs and imitating a group of construction workers watching the one employee actually DOING something, but cut a guy a break once in a while. (Preferably muah) I don’t know who or what establishes your timing, but is there a way that we can reset it so that it’s not backed by Murphey’s Law? Whenever I am running late, you dish out every red light, and if I have more time to spare than a dead man who constantly arranges the furniture in his casket, you seem to hit the pause button on the shade of green. Read my lips as I mouth off to you, electronic director of the commute: ANNOOOOYIIIIING! For some drivers, they are offered the “Go” option for minutes on end without any sign of stopping, and others can see themselves aging in their vanity mirror before it’s time to cross (I seem to be the luckiest person to always be in this crowd). What’s the difference? Is it because I’m a white Caucasian male whose race is suddenly becoming the minority in its own country? I didn’t want to bring up the race card, but it appears to be the norm nowadays as a way to play one’s own violin. Right now, I am performing like a Johann Sebastian Bach of string instruments. Is it money that you want? Here! I have some Benjamin Franklins in my wallet who are complaining of claustrophobia. Perhaps, the two of us could work out some sort of deal: My moolah for your compassionate tolerance. I understand that in an age of multi-tasking you are forced to wear different hats in the job force, (wear a street sign, wear a street lamp on pole and wear other driver command signs) so a little underground economy action can’t hurt you. One minute somebody disputes your call by either not heeding your yellow caution or “No Turn on Red”, yet at the same time nobody ever disagrees with the street name/number clinging to your arm. “Hmmm…15th Street??? Ya sure ‘bout that?” That would be like finding Chef Boyarde in the grocery store checkout line buying Mac and Cheese in bulk. However, how many people throw the driver’s “Rules of the Road” book at you when they have to wait longer in the turning lane than expected? I’ll be honest and raise my hand to that confession. I don’t think that I will ever forget the time you snitched on me with your little mounted camera and caught video of me running you red. What are we, first graders in elementary school? I’ll keep that in mind along with an evil laugh the next time on of your own is under the weather due to a power outage and color blind.
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