Traffic lights are a very good invention. They help people cross streets without getting mowed down by cars doing 15 over the speed limit. They help regulate traffic so that cars on little streets occasionally get the chance to actually move. And they have handy little signs so you know when it is and isn’t legal to hit a pedestrian.
At least, that’s how it seems to me.
My workplace is located on a large, busy street, with several lanes going each way. Occasionally I have to cross said thoroughfare on foot. This is largely how I came to the following conclusion.
I don’t like it when traffic lights tell you how many seconds are left in your life.
“What? They don’t do that!” you say. “Oh, yes,” I reply, “they do!” Let me explain.
After I get off work and realise the need to cross this street, I stand at the corner and press the button to trigger the WALK signal-in this case, a little man walking. After a good five minutes of cars whizzing past me at a posted 45 MPH (read: about 55), I press the button again. And again. After a good fifteen minutes of this, I decide to lean on the button. At this point, I’ve already read the little “Rosetta stone” explaining how to interpret the signals on the traffic light…about twenty times. Eventually, out comes my good friend: the little WALK sign man.
With the little man now showing, I feel perfectly justified in crossing the street-the very thing I’ve been trying to do for the last 20 minutes. However, a problem invariably arises. As soon as I have made it across two lanes of eastbound traffic (still one more eastbound lane, a turn lane, and three westbound lanes to go), the little red hand always pops out, accompanied by a countdown: You have 22 seconds to live, 21 seconds to live, 20 seconds to live… Needless to say, I don’t like being told this. So I quicken my step. By the time I’m crossing the middle westbound lane, I’ve got to worry about a new problem: the yahoos who want to turn right. I’m about to walk right out in front of them, and the little red hand says there’s only 12 seconds until they can legally hit me (hopefully, that’s not actually legal. Hopefully.)
This journey has been interesting, I think as I hit the sidewalk on the other side. Looks like I beat the odds once again. I feel like I’ve cheated the grave. Just one more way we celebrate the little moments, I suppose. Oh well. Next time, since I’m out there waiting anyway, perhaps I’ll hold up a sign for something I believe in. Honk if you believe grass should continue to be green!
