Wednesday, November 28, 2012

The Turning Point

Something seems to have happened to cars lately. Maybe they’re being made by aliens...or maybe a time warp has slammed me back about seventy years.

What ever it is, cars now don’t have any turn signals.

I’ve gotten used to it on the freeways—I live in California—and now it’s seeping down to local streets.

For five years, I commuted daily to the San Francisco Bay Area; one way from my house to my office was 89 miles. This was always an adventure in driving, none more so than the morning I was hit.

I was driving about 75 in the fast lane when a car flashed into my peripheral vision, hit my right front door and bumper and sped off.  I was slammed into the guardrail, hit the brakes and was smashed from behind by a large SUV.   

No one was hurt, the CHP took a report and we all drove off to file insurance claims.  Of course, the sideswiping driver was never found, but I’m sure he didn’t have turn signals because he believed he was the only one on the road, Interstate 80.

After that, I got a little paranoid. I don’t trust most other drivers anyway, and this one made me watch not their absent turn signals, but their tires. Among other things.

I watch their tires, looking for any signs that they’re drifting, or speeding, into my lane.  Lord knows they’d never use turn signals to change lanes, the road is there for their driving pleasure. I can’t begin to count how many times I’ve been cut off by folks just pulling into my lane.

Now, that lack of turn signals in cars has reached epidemic proportions on the city streets as well. The other day I followed a car into my neighborhood.  From the freeway to my street, there were eight turns.  There was never a signal.

I can only assume that the late-model car wasn’t equipped with a turn signal indicator.

Please aliens, when you make cars for us, install turn signal indicators!

Now, let’s talk about the two 18-wheelers I passed the other day whose drivers were texting.  That’s right, driving an 18-wheeler down a freeway at 65 miles an hour, texting.  



  1. Ha! All your turn signals are belong to us.


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