Turn Signals

Generally speaking this picture is of a car turn signal. I know you may be shocked. But these decorative glittery things do exist. If you are aware of their existence and you live in the City of Richmond and it's surrounding counties you may be interested to know that they serve a purpose. They keep drivers like me from slamming into you at 85 (excuse me, 60) mph. These ornamental devices have the ability to advise me in advance that you plan to turn at a 4-way intersection and that I should move into a respective passing lane (having used my turn signal in advance). It helps me to move on, rather than sit and wait on you to turn while all the other Nascar fans speed by us both, just sitting there with you talking on your cell phone.

The turn signals work rather simply. There's generally a bar near your car steering wheel (fairly close to your chest or belly) that allows you to alert others to your intent of a directional change. It's also a courtesy, like a request and/or thank you for the privilege of being able to alter your direction. It's easy really and the effort takes very little strength. Humor yourselves and give it a try. You may find that it brings you inner peace. You may find that other people aren't honking at you so much.

I do know that if you don't use your turn signal, I will honk at you for an extended period of time. I do know that I won't let you in front of me, mostly because you're not asking politely. You're just being rude, and rude begets my 10% evil side and I will speed up to not let you in when you are in more of hurry than me. I will lay on my horn if you did not give me advance notice to get in another lane. And if you really made me mad, I will probably give you the finger.

So why am I kavetching? I went out this evening to run an errand. On my return home, one of Richmond City's finest decided to get in my lane without using his left turn signal alerting his intent to get in front of me. No sirens, nothing from him to say "hey, I need to do this." He missed hitting me on Chamberlayne Avenue by inches. And yes, he got the full blast of my horn. I can't even count on the police to obey by common decent courtesy laws. Heck, I can't even count on them getting the prostitutes off my street unless the mayor makes a brief visit. But I digress.