Thursday, June 14, 2012

Moments of Weakness: Rules of the Road

When the City of Logan (I capitalize "City" because I refer to the shadowy government of Logan and not her fair people) put in a roundabout, people were so terrified that the local newspaper had to publish a diagram of how to navigate this exciting feature. Literally, the following (literally):

This was on the front page of the newspaper. Famine in Africa? Forget it! I have a roundabout to worry about! This is an enemy occupation and the enemy is circular!

People were not amused. Apparently change is not something that we deal with well in Logan, Utah, which is where I live in America (AMERica!). But we soldier on, pulling timidly into the roundabout like meerkats (not mere cats, that's entirely different) peeking out from their holes, just knowing that this will be the day the lioness tracks them down, snatches them, and snuggles them to death.

She is clingy, and that is the worst thing.

Tangent fully explored, I return to my point. Traffic is terrifying, and so most people avoid learning about how to participate in it correctly because ignorance is the best defense. The trouble is, this leads to lots and lots of destruction on the road because people don't think much about how their choices will affect the future. DEATH?!?! Probably.


This morning I almost had the opportunity to participate in, not one, but two car wrecks. The first experience was at a two-way stop, and the second was at a four-way stop. I will tell you about the second one first, because it is boring.

Some chump in a van decided when I was halfway through the intersection that maybe he did have the right of way after all. The end.

Back to the better story at the two-way stop. I approached the intersection on the road with no stop sign (the stop-signless street, if you will) and was fully prepared to keep driving. But a man who had stopped at to my right at the stop sign (which is a sign at which you are meant to stop, I have heard) decided that, as today was probably his birthday, the rules of a two-way stop no longer applied. He pulled through, not seeing me just feet from enacting the dreaded t-bone.

 Delicious, but no...

No! But I respect your music, and, uh, rest in peace?

There! There it is!

But here, fellow adventurers, is my moment of weakness: I didn't honk my horn. I have never honked my horn. 

I come from a legacy of horn-honking, really laying into it too. I grew up going on road trips where my dad always used one hand for steering and the other for honking. I learned beautiful phrases like, "Brain-Dead Bozo-Lip," and, "Geekburger." The sound of our family car horn honking is second only to the sound of a child's cries on my nostalgic sounds list.

And yet I didn't do it. I waited until the driver noticed me, just a couple feet away from his door. He, seeing that there was a problem, decided to fix it by stopping his car in the intersection (the best idea). I waved him on but he seemed stuck in the intersection, paralyzed with the realization that his death was mere feet from him. We stared at each other for a moment, a deep, cold, soul-penetrating stare.
 This is like a...
...negative one-hundred degree stare...

I wish that I could say I was the Charles Bronson of this stare-down, but my look was not one of manly vengeance and overpowering musk. I stared at him as he stared at me, both of us silently agreeing that we would forget this ever happened. He had neglected to look both ways. I had been too terrified of my horn to use it. Something inside both of us died.

He drove on, I drove on, but our souls remained behind to mourn our lack of adventuring spirit. At least, that's what mine did. I think his stayed behind because it didn't realize his body had left THISGUYISANIDIOT!!!!!

But it doesn't make it any better for me.

I have to make up for this.

I have to wrestle a wolf.

Or honk my horn.

Wish me luck, fellow adventurers!

Hearts, Hugs,
Kendall, Adventurer

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