Al Batt, Tales from Exit 22

I can’t remember everything my driver’s training instructor taught me.

But I do remember that the driver of an automobile who passed our student driver car provided by Jeddeloh Rambler was either an idiot or a moron. I cannot recall if an idiot was the one who passed us and a moron was the one who drove slowly in front of us or if it was vice versa.

Whether he was an idiot or a moron, he and his red car passed me as if he were being pursued by a shark in a Mercedes on the Interstate Highway System and then without any turn signal, swerved quickly across two lanes in front of me in order to take an exit. When this happens by a rest area, I can maybe understand the reason for the rush. Maybe his Metamucil and Red Bull cocktail had kicked in. When nature calls and has you on speed dial, you go. However, there was no rest area there.

The driver must have thought that I was a mind reader. I am not. Neither is his car or it would have turned on its own turn signal. I can’t imagine cars have a desire to be hit by other vehicles.

I tease that I can always tell when there is a visitor in town because he or she uses a turn signal. Those of us who reside here don’t because we know where everyone else is going to turn. I say that, but the most of the local folks are conscientious about employing turn signals. I have noticed that where we are negligent is signaling to turn into our own driveways.

Back to the red car that turned signal-less in front of me. Perchance, his turn signals had no sense of duty. Maybe he signals only when making left turns. More likely, he uses a turn signal just when he makes illegal turns.

I wish he had made his bad turn in front of a particularly disreputable motorcycle gang escorting their club president to prison. They would have spoken to him by hand.

Perhaps it was an impulse turn.

Maybe the driver wasn’t on his A-game.

Maybe he was trying to give me IDS — irritable driver syndrome.

Maybe he had been distracted by the soft music emanating from his car’s stereo.

Maybe he didn’t have the specialized skills needed to employ a turn signal because driving school instructors don’t spend enough time showing students how to use turn signals. Maybe not.

Maybe it’s part of a vast conspiracy to make the rest of us slow down and pay attention.

Maybe it’s an act of rebellion — a way to live on the edge.

Maybe he didn’t want to disappoint his insurance company. He might think that having a claim is to an insurance company what getting a caring letter from a loved one is to us.

Maybe some cars are made without turn signals. With the economy the way it is, I suppose car manufacturers have had to save money somewhere.

Turn signals aren’t that difficult. The car blinks, you turn. The red car should have carried a bumper sticker that would have warned other drivers. It would have read, “Caution: Driver does not use turn signals.”

The county fair used to feature the Joey Chitwood Thrillcade. It was a group of stunt drivers who electrified us by doing things like making turns without signaling. It was, well, thrillcading. Today, it would be nothing. I see scarier things on the highways each day.

It’s a shame that turn signals are not being implemented as much as they should be. No one remembers how to do the hand signals other than bicyclists and riders of vintage motorcycles. Many people know how to do hand gestures, but I’m referring to hand signals that indicate turns and stops, not obscenities.

I should thank the driver. He paid me a compliment. He must consider me a higher form of life — one who can read minds.

The young fellow compounded his action by talking on a cell phone while he nearly ruined my day. Maybe he needed to be where he could get a better signal — phone, not turn. He needed a turn-signal app for his cell phone.

Life is a journey. A lightning bolt or a clap of thunder may not accompany each turn, but each turn of a car deserves a signal. Turn signals. They are more than just a good idea. They are the law. What goes around, comes around. One day, I’ll show that young whippersnapper. I’ll teach him a lesson by driving 30 miles with my blinker on. That will drive him crazy.

Hey, what’s that clicking sound?

Hartland resident Al Batt’s columns appear every Sunday and Wednesday.