Hello and hi there, Good People of the Internet! Today we interrupt our regularly-scheduled Of Cabbages and Kings blog post for a very special public service announcement:
There is something that every driver on the road has, but few wish to address. It's lurking inside your vehicle at this very moment... And it's been there all along ... It's called... a "Turn Signal." Its purpose? To help others know when you're ABOUT TO turn. Not AS you're turning. Not AFTER you're already turned into the parking lot, parked and have gone inside for a decaf latte. BEFORE you turn. So please read the manual on your car to find out where your turn signal is located, and use it appropriately.
NOTE: contrary to rumor, the turn signal does not operate through use of telekinesis or psychic projection. You must lift your arm and pull the lever. Thank you.
Okay-- Hi again! Sorry about that, folks! I just had to get that out of my system, and I apologize for the paragraphs o' snark, because I know very well that it is NOT YOUR FAULT that we're discussing turn signals today. I know that my most excellent readers aren't guilty of neglecting the mighty signal because of... oh, I don't know... being afraid that using it too much will burn the bulb out sooner.
I know that this is not about you guys.
This is about the guy on Saturday who was going along at a normal pace and then decided to JUST STOP DEAD in the lane, prior to making a turn he never signaled for.
The guy who made me slam on the brakes and who I, thankfully, avoided hitting, only because I try to leave an appropriate cushion.
The guy who caused MY car to get rear-ended.
This is about THAT guy.
Stan.
Well, okay, I don't KNOW if his name is Stan or not. I made that up. Y'know, to give him some kind of human element. Because, see, Stan couldn't have missed the tires screeching and heavy machinery colliding behind him. And he just continued pulling his non-rear-ended vehicle into the store parking lot. There he parked, and spun himself into a cocoon until we left.
Meanwhile, the lady who hit me and I went around collecting our bejeebers. You know, the ones that had been scared out of us, and which were spilled along the side of the road.
Stan had tinted windows, so I couldn't even see his face to scowl at him.
On the up side, I have a plastic car. Well, "polymer." Which just means plastic with a serious mark-up cost. So in spite of being rear-ended, my car is essentially fine-- a few scratches. And me, my neck was just a little stiff for about a day.
If my car had not been made of advanced aerodynamic Tupperware, however, I would be even less amused about the situation. I'd be getting estimates and repairs, the lady who hit me would be footing the bill... And our buddy ol' Stan Randomdriver? Why, by now, he would have transformed from cocoon to some kind of moth, winging his way merrily like nothing ever happened, leaving destruction steaming in his wake.
So turn signals. The turn signal is your FRIEND, Stan Randomdriver. Don't ignore it-- Show it some love! I beg of you. For the safety of my fellow Pittsburghers. Run right out and give your turn signal a decent workout today.
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Have YOU folks had an encounter with one of the Stan Randomdrivers on our city streets? Share your story. Let's popularize that obscure thing called a turn signal, and make this world a better place!
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For comedy which never uses its turn-signal, you might want to check out Humor-blogs.
