Drive, She Said

I’m a big supporter of public transit. I’ve never owned a car, and most of the time, I’m happy about that. It allows me to feel superior whenever I see a report about carbon emissions. And yet, every once in awhile, I have access to a car, and for that brief moment, I can appreciate the freedom and convenience a car can provide, and I like it. My parents are still off in Europe, walking 500 miles, so we’ve taken advantage of their car for running errands, buying plants, and getting around. This Friday, we met up after work and headed home via a familiar route. We’ve walked home this way and have traveled this road countless times in the back seat of a taxi. The route winds through a beautiful residential neighbourhood where only the very wealthy live. Huge, old homes line the streets and, in a few weeks, a tall canopy of green will make it even more pleasant. We know this route and we like it. It’s peaceful to head off the main avenues of Toronto and drive through a section that fills us with fantasies of what our lives will be like as soon as we win the lottery.

This was the first time we’d driven there, though. As we drove along, Mr. T noticed a sign that said, “No Through Traffic” and scoffed “Yeah right, watch me. How would they know, anyway?” We laughed and drove on along the quiet residential street. We turned the corner and arrived at a three-way stop. There was a lot of commotion at the intersection. Some bozo had decided to pull a u-turn and it was holding everyone up. We watched him in frustration thinking of his arrogance in forcing everyone to wait while he did his thing. As we waited to turn east, I noticed a man heading in our direction, waving. “Why is that guy waving at us?” I wondered aloud. “He’s probably just waving at someone else,” was Mr. T’s response. Hmm.

We turned the corner and started to make our way east. Within milliseconds, we spotted the cause of all the commotion. A police car was parked in the opposite lane, it’s officer out, waving us over to the side of the road. Everything suddenly made sense: the sign, the bozo, the wave. “So, that’s how they know!” exclaimed Mr. T as he pulled out his license and registration and lowered the window. Apparently, there are no right turns between 4PM-6PM. Only wrong turns. As we pulled away from our brush with the law, we reflected on the joys of public transit and plain old walking. Sometimes, you get stuck. Sometimes, you get soaked. But it rarely costs you ninety dollars. Thank you, officer. Thank you for reminding me that I haven’t got it so bad after all.