4. When Politeness Is Not Polite: “Letting People In” On the Road

Most people think it is polite to “let people in” on the road.

I do not think “letting people in” is polite. I think it is dangerous.

I think endangering people is seldom polite.

When I told him how I felt about “letting people in,” an acquaintance of mine told me a story of someone once upon a time who stopped, on the expressway (on the freeway! in the middle of a limited-access 65-mile-per-hour interstate!), to let somebody in from an entrance ramp. Causing a multiple-car pile-up. Very polite.

I have been in two bad accidents caused by people “letting people in,” and witnessed a third near-miss caused by somebody forcing himself in. My opinion, then, is not just based on an acquaintance’s possibly apocryphal stories. It is based on personal experience.

In my first “letting people in” accident, it was I who was “let in.”

I was in Key West, Florida. In other words, I was a tourist. I had no idea where I was. I was exiting a gas station, all gassed-up, in preparation for my return trip north. I wanted to turn left onto a three-lane road with a passing lane in the middle. There was a long, jammed line of cars in the lane directly in front of me, edging slowly to my right. Somebody stopped and waved me through.

I was only nineteen at the time. What did I know?

So I follow instructions like a good boy and go where I am waved.

Whereupon a tourist from Nebraska blasting up the middle passing lane with a van full of kids plows into my beautiful 1965 Mustang with the Landau roof. Causing me no end of trouble I don’t want to go into right now.

You see, I couldn’t see the tourist from Nebraska approaching because the line of cars in front of me was in the way. And the car that waved me through couldn’t see the tourist from Nebraska because he was passing through its blind spot.

(The person who waved me through, by the way, turned around and took a powder after the crash, of course. Leaving me to the tender mercies of the local constabulary.)

I learned my lesson. From then on, whenever anybody waves me through, I wave them on. I’ll wait, thank you. Sometimes they get mad. How dare I not accept their “politeness”? Well, Sir or Madam, I daren’t because your “politeness” is not polite—safety first is my motto.

In my second “letting in” accident, it was somebody else who was let in.

I was on another three-lane road on a wintry day. The traffic was heavy and slow. I was moving up, at a very slow rate of speed, in the center passing lane, when somebody waves a new Buick in from the gas station on my right. The Buick thereupon plows into my right door and rams me into a snowbank.

The Buick could not see me coming, because the line of cars was in the way. And I could not see the Buick that hit me coming, for the same reason. I was also probably in the waver’s blind spot.

The waver, of course, once more, took off again. Too modest, no doubt, to accept the thanks due such courtesy.

Consider the following graphic.

In the first accident, the Key West accident, I was the green car. In the second accident, I was the red car. Either way, “letting people in” made a big mess for everybody involved. Except, of course, for the person doing the waving. The “polite” one.

Sometimes people insist that you be “polite” to them. Even if you are trying to save their life.

The third time I witnessed the foolishness of “letting people in,” I was in the position of “waver.” Only I wasn’t waving. I was sitting on a two-lane road in a long jammed up line of cars, edging slowly forward. A guy in a big pick-up truck full of chrome and Big-Wheels and floodlights coming out of a Burger King parking lot to my right is getting impatienter and impatienter. He’s revving, he’s jerking forward, then he escalates to beeping and yelling and making very impolite gestures, all intended to get me to be “polite” and let him through to go to the left, in the opposite direction. I’m shaking my head “No.” I’m pointing, trying to draw his attention to the oncoming traffic to my left. But he is having none of it. Finally, he just guns it and I have to stop and let him through, because it looks like he is ready to smash into me, if that’s what it takes to make me be “polite.”

Whereupon an oncoming car screeches to a halt inches from his giant chrome fender, beeping like a banshee, and he is rubbernecking all around, trying to see where all the hubbub is coming from.

I roll down my window and yell, “Seeee?!!!!” I don’t think he quite got what I was getting at. I’ll tell you, though. I would have gladly stuck around to tell my side of the story, as the non-waver in situ, had a collision ensued.

Consider the graphic. I’m the red car this time.

Now, you might argue that, while, yes, perhaps “letting people in” across traffic can be a little dangerous, there is nothing whatsoever wrong with letting people in when they are going your way.

Consider the graphic:

Yes, it is true. Technically, if you let somebody in who is going your way, there is less danger. At least to the car being let in, and to the oncoming cars in the opposing lane.

On the other hand, how do you really know if somebody is going your way? Yes, sometimes they signal. But sometimes they don’t. Sometimes people forget to turn signals off. Sometimes people change their minds.

Not to mention the person behind you who, perhaps momentarily distracted, promptly rear-ends you—when you decide to abruptly halt a moving line of traffic to let somebody in.

Moreover, the above graphic allows us to consider this matter of “politeness” in its full glory.

I wonder, has it ever occurred to anybody, that, when you stop to speed one car a little faster and more merrily on its way, you are stifling, holding up, snubbing, yes, “being impolite to,” a whole fleet of cars behind you?!

How many do I have there, on the graphic, lined up waiting patiently behind the red car while it politely lets the yellow car in? Eight? Eight cars, sitting there suffering impoliteness, while one car enjoys the beneficence of your very selective politeness.

I know there are reasons why people don’t think about the cars behind them: “Out of sight, out of mind”; “What is behind us does not matter!” etc. But they’re there, ignore them as you will, sullying with their fuming exhausts the purity of roadway “politeness.”

In spite of what I have had to say in the foregoing, there is one case in which “letting people in,” I believe, is genuinely polite, and not particularly dangerous to anybody.

This is the instance where there is a single lane of traffic, moving in one direction only, with an entrance ramp, or some other form of single lane ingress, feeding into it.

This kind of situation often occurs on limited-access expressways when there is construction going on and traffic is funneled into one lane. I don’t want to talk about how wonderfully impolite many people are when they see traffic up ahead being funneled into one lane and refuse to get over into that lane, instead barreling on in the passing lane all the way up to the barrier and then butting their way in to the funnel lane at the last second. I would be willing to bet that those same people are the first to “let people in” in dangerous cross-traffic situations like the ones I have described above. Somehow the mentality seems the same to me.

What I want to talk about now is how to manage merging traffic.

Consider the graphic:

The way you are supposed to merge two lanes of traffic into one in a situation such as this is by taking turns. As can seen by the alternating green and red cars subsequent to the entrance ramp in the above graphic. Taking turns is easy. We learn to do it in kindergarten. They taught me to do it in kindergarten, anyway. I don’t know what they teach now. Probably not taking turns, judging by the difficulty people have mastering this arcane concept on the road.

And so there it is. In the spirit of always ending on a positive note. The truly, actually polite, non-dangerous, thoughtful, truly, actually helpful, form of “letting people in”!

3. Fear of the Left Turn on Red!

FEAR OF THE LEFT TURN ON RED!

I don’t know when my life turned into me driving around all the time.

But here I am and here it is. My life. Driving around all the time.

When you’re driving around all the time, you notice things. Like how many people are terrified of making a left turn on red—usually, people right in front of me.

Here’s what happens. It is rush hour. The person in front of me stops for the red light behind the white line painted in the road—right where you are supposed to stop for a red light.

The red light turns green. An endless line of oncoming cars approaches and passes to our left (preventing a left turn as long as the light is green). The person in front of me hangs back at the white line. The light turns red. The person in front of me hangs back at the white line. The light turns green. The endless line parades pass to our left. The person in front of me hangs back at the white line. The light turns red. The person in front of me hangs back at the white line.

Etc.

And there we sit, cycling back and forth between Scenario A to Scenario B, theoretically forever. (See graphics below [I am in the poor benighted green car].)

SCENARIO A
Hanging Back on Green

SCENARIO B
Hanging Back on Red

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

What is supposed to happen goes like this.

The red light turns green. An endless line of oncoming cars approaches and passes to our left (preventing a left turn as long as the light is green). The person in front of me pulls out into the middle of the intersection. The light turns red. As soon as the oncoming traffic stops for the red light, the person in front of me turns left. On red. Before the cross traffic to our left and right starts to move. See Scenarios C and D below:

SCENARIO C
Middle of the Intersection on Green

SCENARIO D
Left Turn on Red

I know why people are afraid of left turn on red. Because left turn on red depends on getting out into the middle of the intersection. And sitting all exposed like that out there in the middle of the intersection, the cross traffic to the left and right might run into you. They have the green light after all.

I understand this fear. Driving is dangerous. You never know when somebody’s going to run into you. Caution at all times is the call and watchword.

If only people could rationally weigh the relative dangers of a left turn on red, however, I think maybe we could expedite some traffic flow and ease some fears at the same time:

A. When you are sitting out in the middle of the intersection while you have the green light, the stopped cars to your left and right can see you right in front of them. It is highly unlikely that any of them are going to just stomp on the gas pedal and ram right into you, sitting right there plain as day directly in front of them, just because they have the green light.

B. Worst case scenario: even if they did take it into their heads to do something so insane as to stomp on the gas pedal and run right into you sitting right there plain as day right in front of them just because they have the green light—you are only 10 feet away. If they make it to 10 miles an hour before they hit you, they are driving a dragster. 10 miles an hour is barely fender-bender speed. This scenario is of course not likely to happen at all. But even if it did, the damage—and the danger—would be minimal.

C. You are much much more likely to be hit head-on by somebody swerving out of the oncoming lane, than you are being hit by sudden ramming from a halted vehicle you are sitting right in front of. And yet we all drive down the street day after day without the slightest thought about the danger of oncoming traffic. (I hope that, in making this point, I haven’t increased the very driving paranoia I am trying to tamp down. On second thought, forget I ever said it. Stick with A. and B. Especially A.)

I understand that some think what I am describing is illegal.
All I can say is, I’ve done it all my life, and never been cited for it.

Worst case scenario, better a scofflaw than sitting there behind the white line, like some Twilight Zone Nether-World Car-Zombie, waiting forever for the eternally oncoming traffic to let up.

2. Where Did All the Community Bulletin Boards Go?

Where Did All the Community Bulletin Boards Go?

All the supermarkets have got rid of their community bulletin boards in my neighborhood, it seems.

I love community bulletin boards. Crude black and white photocopies of pictures of lost dogs. Hand-made advertisements for lawn-care or moving or house-cleaning services with the little hand-scissored fringe of slips with hand-lettered phone numbers hanging down beneath. Real estate and insurance agents smiling desperately out from their thumb-tack-impaled calling cards. Posters heralding upcoming pork and sauerkraut dinners at the local fire hall. Used cars, clothes, tools, furniture for sale.

Recently I went around looking for community bulletin boards, in the course of trying to advertise a hootenanny at the local grange that I was organizing.

Where’d they all go? I wondered, as a traipsed from supermarket to supermarket with my stack of photocopied hootenanny posters, staring forlornly at empty spaces on walls where once home-made ads like prayer-flags fluttered freely in the air-conditioning. Sometimes it seemed like they’d got rid of them right before I got there. Like they saw me coming.

I actually made so bold as to ask a store manager why. “Corporate doesn’t like it,” he said.

Online, I discovered, it said Whole Foods has them. As with everything else, online lies. Whole Foods doesn’t have community bulletin boards. I asked the store manager why not and she said, “Corporate doesn’t like it.”

And so, squelched again, I idly bemoaned my plight to the cashier. She actually wrinkled her nose. I think she may actually have said “eeyoo.” As ever slow on the uptake, I gradually caught on. Though she hadn’t said it in so many words, I think that, to her, community bulletin boards represent a kind of person she doesn’t like. A person she is above. What used to be called a working class person when there was work.

So I told her I had an ulterior motive for wishing Whole Foods had a community bulletin board. I wanted to advertise a shindig I was throwing. So she tries to sell me on running ads on the local NPR station.

“I’m not trying to reach the kind of people who listen to NPR,” I say (a tad frustrated at once more not getting through on this particular theme). “I’m trying to reach the kind of people who read community bulletin boards.” That got me the old fish-eye.

Thus, I come to the speculative part of this investigation. What, I wondered, is the real reason they got rid of community bulletin boards?

It is entirely possible, I think, hard as it is to conceive, that supermarkets consider community bulletin boards competition.

The only real, substantive reason they could come up with, though, when I pressed them for a reason, was that it took too many man-hours to keep bulletin boards shipshape.

Yeah. Check. I bet it took all day to take down a few out-of-date posters.

More sinister reasons might be imagined.

Could it be that the powers that be are trying to stamp out the kind of person and the kind of behavior that community bulletin boards represent?

Could it be that community bulletin boards, from the Masters-of-the-Universe point of view, are too free. Too un-moderated. Too uncontrollable. Too off-the-grid.

The next thing you know, they’ll be posting ads for revolutions. With a little fringe of phone numbers at the bottom.

You’d think that good community bulletin boards would spell good community relations. Certainly their publicity suggests they would like us to know how community-oriented they are.

I mean, people spend half their lives perplexedly wandering those endless aisles. I certainly do. But no. If you’re looking for a surefire way to provoke a blank stare, broach the idea of “good community relations” with store managers. It’s like telling them Mars has many precipitate salts.

Addendum: Widening the ambit of my search, I finally did come across some community bulletin boards. Way out in the country. The farther out, the more bulletin boards.

I figure either A. nobody in management gives a hoot about the boondocks, or B. demographics have identified country-dwellers as “the kind of people” who read community bulletin boards.

Which is fine, I guess. Except I don’t live way out in the country, and I have a dance to publicize.

Is there a moral to the story? The best I can come up with is “You can’t get there from here.”

1. The Meaning of Success

THE MEANING OF SUCCESS

My nephew, Aaron Hood, died at 35 of epilepsy in the summer of 2017.
Many people, I think, would not have considered him a “success.” He mostly worked as a waiter or cook. He changed jobs frequently. He lived at home with his mother. He never married, though he had a devoted girlfriend.

As is true for so many of us, there was no spare money lying around for his funeral. So Aaron’s brother activated his trusty telephone and sent out the call.

The money poured in, much more than enough.
Yes, the money poured in; but drop by drop. There were no rich donors. Each donation was small. But the number of donors was big—mostly the many friends he had made over the years, regular, average working people from the small town he lived in. Several of them were demonstrably indigent. And still they gave twenty bucks.

Moreover, his wake was mobbed.

In a world full of crabby old curmudgeons slogging through their crummy lives, Aaron was a breath of spring. Aaron’s enthusiasm for just about everything in that world seemed limitless. I remember him running into me in a bar. “Wow! My uncle! Sitting here in a bar! With me!” It’s just a bar, I said. This did not deter him. He did the same thing running into an ex of mine somewhere. “Wow! My aunt! Sitting here in a bar! With me!” I remember showing him Seven Samurai when he was young. Instead of growing quickly bored with black-and-white and subtitles, as is to be expected of most contemporary children, he watched intensely, asking questions, shouting in glee at the exciting parts.

I never saw him when he didn’t seem happy to see whomever, or interested in whatever, crossed his path.

No wonder he had so many friends.

That is a success in my book. Being so beloved by so many people. (Somehow I doubt the donations for my funeral will be comparably pouring in. Will they for yours?)

Who cares about the crummy jobs we all have to do? Big-time lawyer, doctor, Indian chief, candlestick-maker, or lowly food service provider, as the case may be. What do they matter? Jobs are jobs.

Moreover, fate is no respecter of persons. Fortuna caeca est, as the Romans used to say, “Fortune is blind.”

What matters, I believe, is how you live. How you treat others. Whether you greet the world each day with a smile or a frown. How often and how well you lighten the load of your fellow travelers. How well you are loved.
And in this, Aaron Hood was a success unequivocal.