Red Light District

Rear ViewFolks, if grumbling about red lights was an Olympic event, I’d be representing Australia; and a good chance at gold too.

Hansen Road is one very long car park for me, and getting a green light at the Philip Street shopping precinct is like winning Lotto, so I usually avoid both areas.

But, every now and then, I like to test my luck because at heart I’m an optimist, aka: an idiot.

So, last weekend I sat in front of my fifth red light in a row and noted that there were only two cars on the road, mine and the one behind me. Heaven knows why the spiteful lights had turned red?

…every now and then, I like to test my luck because at heart I’m an optimist, aka: an idiot.

Sighing, I checked the rear view mirror to see if the other driver was just as peeved, but discovered that he couldn’t have cared less what colour the light was because he was using his time much more constructively; he was tickling his partner.

He was laughing, she was laughing then I started laughing, and that’s how we all missed the next green light. As the lights turned orange, I pedalled my old cart through the empty intersection and coasted fifty metres to the next red light.  The car behind me hadn’t budged; obviously he had his hands full.

And since then, whenever I approach a set of traffic lights, I start grinning like a chimp and part of me secretly hopes they’ll turn red. And, by the way, my rear view mirror has never been so clean.

About Greg Bray

The scribbler behind the 'On a Lighter Note' column.
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