I'm a red-light-running idiot

The BBQ Pit
1

Yup. Count me among the morons who run red lights. I did it today.

Never mind that, over my almost-30-year driving history, I’ve run only one stop sign (on an unfamiliar road: didn’t see it), never run a red light before, and had only one cruncher of an accident, where I wasn’t at fault. Never mind nobody got hit, let alone hurt, today.

I ran a red light. I’m an idiot.

Granted, it had been a bad day up till then. I’d left the barn after a morning of doing tedious chores while coping with ice, ice everywhere and a miserable icy wind; gotten just beyond the driveway, and discovered I had a flat tire. I’d waited over half an hour for the AAA guy to show up and put the teensy little spare on for me (I’m incompetent at all things automotive). I was on my way to an open-on-Sundays Firestone shop, to drop a bundle of money I can’t easily spare on a new tire, with an hour’s wait for that to be done. All of which was making me at least two hours late for the little birthday party my elderly mom and her sister were waiting to give me.

Granted, even, that I’d just spent the last 20 minutes creeping along the winding roads of Exurbia behind some doddering old fart who drove 5 to 10 m.p.h. below the posted speed limit, no matter what it was. So by the time we reached the first set of lights by the shopping center next to Route 128, I was fuming.

That’s no excuse for running a red light and being an idiot.

The creeping moron in front of me crept over to the left as we came to those lights, his left turn signal blinking. He was braking even before his green light turned yellow. The lane to his right was open as the yellow light came on. I saw my chance and gunned it around him. Free to go at last!

And, three car lengths ahead, a second set of yellow lights flipped to red.

OH SHIT! I thought as I slammed the brake pedal down, then instantly released it. No use! I was going fast enough (maybe 25-30 m.p.h.) that I’d be screeching to a stop in the middle of the intersection. So I floored it and was through before the waiting cars had even begun to roll forward.

I’m an idiot. I’m just plain lucky that, here in Massachusetts, most people have the street smarts to wait, when the light turns, for some moron to run the red light before they proceed.

So, to the folks who saw some dolt in a dark-blue Saturn station wagon run a red light this afternoon:

You’re right, sir and/or madam. I’m an idiot.

2

PAY ATTENTION!

There! You’ve done something wrong and have been been scolded for it.

Carry on.

Bubba

3

In the same manner, but with none of the excuses you had I ran a red light in Memphis just over a week ago. I wish I could say it bothered me as much, but my reaction was that I hoped it wasn’t one of the lights with cameras.

4

Um, happy birthday?

Rte 1A will drive even the sanest person to acts of perfidy even more vile than running a red light a second after it changes. I’ve been pondering a pit thread on the subject. The towns of the North Shore were settled in colonial times and the roads were designed for nothing faster and more aerodynamic than the occasional ox-cart. Most people hereabouts seem unable to read a speed limit sign, so continually drive at five to ten miles under the limit. Ten miles an hour on a 55 MPH road (Rte. 1) is aggravating, but ten below the limit on a 40 MPH road (Rte 1A) is just agonizingly painful. My blood pressure soars daily to dangerous levels as a I follow some blue-haired ancients meandering along the local byways oblivious to the long line of frustrated motorists behind them wishing for rocket launchers.

We won’t even mention the engineering genius that designed Rte. 1 so that each red light rests before a long hill, so that the many heavy trucks have to slooowly grind their way to the top after coming to a full stop. Or the traffic nightmare that is the center of Ipswich where five roads meet without a stoplight or good lines of sight, requiring the motorist to basicailly have to say a quick prayer to whatever Deity they believe in before flinging their car into on-coming traffic. I suspect even complete athiests offer up a sub-vocal Hail Mary.
Anyway, I can’t absolve you for driving through the red light, but oh, I understand.

5

Oh, me, oh, my, you DO understand! :smiley: Don’t you just particularly love it when the snail-herder in front of you actually does notice the frequent changes in speed limits (anywhere from 25 to 50 m.p.h. in a three-town stretch) and ALWAYS slows down to 5-10 m.p.h. below?

From Rowley to Route 128 in Beverly, there’s NO ESCAPE if you’re caught behind Grampaw and His Amazing Chug-Chug Machine. It’s a good thing the area is so scenic, given one’s surfeit of leisure to contemplate the landscape.

And then, for really mind-melting gridlocked madness, there’s Route 1 during the Topsfield Fair. :eek: Even Route 1A through North Beverly is better than that.

6

Of course, all these poke-along drivers on no-passing roads around here encourage more than just red-light-running. The “long line of frustrated motorists behind them wishing for rocket launchers” (or how about a pickup with a plow blade attached, Finagle? ;)) inevitably wind up tailgating. They get so used to tailgating, they do it all the time, even to those of us who drive at, or slightly above, the speed limit.

There’s nothing like driving a winding semi-rural road at night, through Deer Central, especially in winter, with some moron inches behind your bumper, headlights half-blinding you. When I’m stuck in that situation, with no room to pull over and let the idiot by, I summon up a favorite fantasy, one that Finagle will have no trouble visualizing:

I’m heading south on Route 1A, late one evening. Some tool in a pickup swings in behind me as I go over the bridge in Ipswich. He’s close behind as we wind by the town green, and I pray he’ll take himself and his maladjusted headlights onto 133 when we pass the Whittier Motel.

Damn! He stays on 1A, and on my tail. I pick up my speed to the posted 50 mph as we leave the last houses behind and the road loops lazily past Appleton Farm. But that’s not good enough; he’s still inches from my bumper.

Route 1A swings from its sweeping S curve into the long, tempting straightaway into Hamilton. I touch my brakes quickly – taptaptap – to alert Mr. Need For Speed that I’m dropping down to the posted 40 mph. In return, I get his high beams. Crap! I’ve had enough. It gravels me to do it, but I swing onto the shoulder and let the moron pass me.

I get a fleeting impression of a raised finger as the pickup roars past me and accelerates down the road.

I get a warm glow of satisfaction as headlights flash on and a police cruiser pulls out of the driveway up ahead, takes off after the moron, and pulls him over.

Sometimes the local speed traps come in handy. :wink:

Damn, but I’d love to see my fantasy come true some day. :smiley:

7

Well, no one was hurt, and that’s what’s important. But be more careful, fer cryin’ out loud! :slight_smile:

8

You probably leave on your blinker too.

Dang old drivers.
ps Happy birthday
:slight_smile:

9

:smiley: I probably would, if my thoughtful little car didn’t turn it off for me when I straighten the wheel out of a turn. :smiley:

It sure does nag me when I try to exit from it with the key still in the ignition, or the lights on. :o

10

THIS ACTUALLY HAPPENED TO ME LAST OCTOBER!
And boy did it feel good! :smiley:

We were driving a rented truck full of appliances west on Rt. 24 out of Colorado Springs. It’s a 2 lane road that follows a river up into the mountains - in other words, windy and hilly. We were actually going the speed limit (which was reasonable given our load and top-heavy-ness), but Mr. MegaPickup decided this wasn’t fast enough for him. So he passed us, “saluted” us, and sped off at the first opportunity (crossing a solid line, IIRC). Less than a mile ahead, we passed him, pulled over by a cop and about to get a ticket.

We beeped and waved “hi”! Ah, instant karma!

11

:smiley: LOVE IT!!! Oh, the joy, the bliss… :smiley: