There are many reasons to hate traffic lights. Their arrogant and bullying nature, that Amber “colour” they keep going on about (it’s orange), the preferential treatment given to the direction perpendicular to your own, the collusion. But, my biggest pet peeve is how they seem to frequently place an acquaintance (often a work colleague) in the lane parallel to my own. I’m bad enough at water cooler type small talk but removing the ability to vocalize my retardation hurls the awkward into entirely new stratosphere… the dumb zone I call it, or dumb area for the PC elite.

It’s always the same. I get stopped by the red devil, a vehicle pulls up to my left, I peer over to check the aesthetics and it’s Jane from HR. “Oh Hey” I mouth to Jane, accompanied with a lifting of the head to further acknowledge her existence, to which she replies with a cutsie wave. I quickly move on to my one and only routine. I grab the wheel tight and look forward, then back to Jane, then forward again like I’m Danny Zuko and we’re about to get all Grease lightning up in this bitch. Jane laughs. She’s so pretty. I appreciate her charitable appreciation by smiling back, which also indicates that it was indeed a gag and not an invitation to throw down. I look forward again, checking the other directions lights for any hint of orange. No luck. I start to freak out. I can feel Jane’s gaze but I don’t want to turn my head as I’ve exhausted what little red light material I have. I pretend to look for something in the glove box to buy some time. Her eyes are now burning my skull like a Vulcan laser beam. If we make eye contact now there’s a good chance I may enter some sort of awkward vortex, never to be seen again. I reflect…

“Jane’s pretty cool. Remember that time she used two smiley’s and “lol” in the one sentence. I think I can afford to broaden the strokes a little.”

I get my head out of the glove box and look forward again while simultaneously bringing up my left hand to the side of my face. I scratch my cheek with my middle finger, quite obviously using this as a means to give Jane the finger. Not a “I wish I could ride a bike into your groin and kick you in the tit” finger but more a “Hey Jane, isn’t it ironic how my hand says fuck you but we’re friends” finger. I look left again to get another whiff of the appreciation powder but Jane’s looking straight ahead. The mind ignites…

“Shit, did I offend her? Did she even see it? Has she been looking forward the whole time? Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. Maybe she’s religious? Do they even care about the finger? Fuck, I should have just kept my head in the glove box! Idiot! Maybe she’s just ignoring you as a joke. Yeh, that’s it. She’s grabbed this gag with two hands and is running with it. This is why I always loved Jane. Looks and humour. I should definitely ask her out in an email tomorrow. I better turn it up a notch to keep the banter going.”

I beep the horn. Jane turns to me. I poke my tongue out, give her the finger with both hands this time and mouth “Fuck you Jane”, with a big grin on my face.

She looks horrified. The light goes green and she speeds off.

I hate traffic lights.