Car Turn Signals
An Optional Feature
Civilization in Decline, One Blink at a Time
Turn signals are not new. They are not complicated. They are not experimental technology awaiting FDA approval. They are sticks. Plastic sticks. You flick them up, or you flick them down. That’s it. The entire design brief for turn signals could be written on a cocktail napkin in crayon.
And yet, for at least half the driving population, the turn signal is apparently an “optional feature.” Optional, like sunroofs, heated seats, or those dangling pine-tree air fresheners that smell like chemical warfare.
Which means every drive is a lottery. Will that Honda Civic up ahead actually turn right, or is he just swerving like he’s dodging invisible potholes? Who knows? He doesn’t. You don’t. God doesn’t.
This is how civilizations collapse — not with wars, not with pandemics, but with millions of people refusing to flick a lever three inches from their fingertips.
The Left Lane Olympics
Let’s talk about the left lane. The left lane is supposed to be for passing. That’s the law, the tradition, the covenant written into the asphalt since roads were invented.
And yet, without signals, the left lane becomes a lawless wasteland.
Picture this: you’re cruising at a safe, responsible, totally legal speed of 84 mph. Suddenly, a beige Toyota Corolla drifts into your lane without signaling. Not a sharp move, not a decisive cut — just a lazy drift, like a manatee wandering into traffic.
Your coffee spills. Your life flashes before your eyes. Somewhere, a bald eagle cries. And the Corolla driver? He doesn’t even notice. He’s busy eating a breakfast burrito and adjusting his playlist to Yacht Rock Essentials.
At this point, using a turn signal would have been the bare minimum of human decency. Instead, we’re all characters in his private improv show called Will I or Won’t I Change Lanes? Spoiler: he will. Directly into you.
The Archetypes of Non-Signalers
I’ve been studying these people. They fall into categories:
The Magician – One moment, the lane is clear. The next, poof! There’s a Nissan Altima where your car used to be.
The Philosopher – Believes signaling is an illusion of control in a meaningless universe. “Lane changes, like life, just happen, man.”
The Gambler – Treats every merge as a Vegas bet. Will he make it? Will you slam the brakes? Place your chips, people.
The Mime – Silent, expressionless, communicates only through sudden, terrifying movement.
The Historian – “Back in my day, nobody signaled. We just pointed our car toward destiny and prayed.”
Voiceover, nature-documentary style:
“Here, the suburban male migrates into the left lane without signaling. Notice the arrogance. Notice the burrito. He does not fear predators, because he is the predator.”
The One-Second Flick (A Greek Tragedy)
Then there are the “technical signalers.” They’ll flick the blinker once — once — exactly as they’re already turning.
This isn’t a signal. This is narration. That’s like yelling, “SURPRISE!” after you’ve already jumped out of the closet.
The single-blink signal is the driving equivalent of a passive-aggressive roommate. It’s not helping. It’s just reminding you that you live with a sociopath.
Parking Lot Purgatory
Have you ever followed someone through a Target parking lot while they creep along at 2 mph, turn signal dark, before suddenly yanking into a spot you were about to take?
It’s psychological warfare. Parking lots are the Geneva Conventions of signaling. If you don’t indicate, you’re not just rude — you’re a war criminal.
I once followed a minivan that seemed to wander aimlessly through the lot like it was lost in the desert. After three minutes, it cut across diagonally, nearly mowing down a shopping cart wrangler, and dove into a space without signaling. My horn honked itself. I wasn’t even involved anymore. My car was mad on my behalf.
If Life Worked Like This
What if humans treated everything like turn signals?
Dating: instead of breaking up, you just slowly drift out of the relationship without warning. “Oh, you didn’t notice? I’ve been merging toward your best friend for weeks.”
Work: instead of giving two weeks’ notice, you just stop showing up to meetings and assume your boss understands. “C’mon, didn’t my lack of eye contact signal I was leaving?”
Marriage: imagine your spouse walks into the kitchen one day, packs a bag, and drifts out the door without explanation. Later they text: “You should have known. I was leaning slightly to the left.”
Society would collapse in under an hour. But on the road? Totally normal.
The Punishments
Clearly, there must be consequences.
First offense: the car emits a polite chime: “Hey buddy, maybe try the blinker?”
Second offense: the stereo hijacks itself and blasts polka music until you comply.
Third offense: your car automatically posts dashcam footage online with the caption: “This moron refuses to signal.”
Fourth offense: the DMV repossesses your blinker and replaces it with a squeaky dog toy.
By the fifth offense, the car should just explode into confetti while a referee in stripes blows a whistle:
“Lane change violation! Loss of license. Replay first down.”
The SUV Problem
It’s always the giant vehicles. SUVs, pickup trucks, airport shuttles — rolling fortresses that practically require radar to navigate. These are the cars that most need to signal. And yet they don’t.
It’s like being tailgated by a national park. Suddenly, the Grand Canyon decides to merge into your lane. No signal. Just geology in motion.
The Futurist’s Nightmare
We’re training self-driving cars with human data. Which means in five years, every AI taxi will also refuse to signal.
You’ll hail a ride, and the car will drift silently across six lanes, nearly killing you, while calmly announcing in its soothing robot voice:
“Signaling is inefficient. You should have predicted my intentions from my tire angle.”
This is how the robots win. Not with lasers. With ambiguity.
Holiday Driving: The Director’s Cut
Thanksgiving. You’re driving to your aunt’s house. You’re on the highway with 80,000 other people, all carrying casseroles, all swerving without signals. It’s chaos. It’s Mad Max: Cranberry Sauce Edition.
You try to merge. The guy behind you floors it. The guy ahead of you drifts into the shoulder. Nobody signals. It’s a free-for-all. Somewhere, a turkey dies of stress.
The Cosmic Irony
We can livestream cat videos to billions of people. We can land robots on Mars. We can clone sheep. But flicking a stick an inch to the left so we don’t die in traffic? Apparently, that’s too advanced.
The Courtroom Finale
One day, justice will come. Non-signalers will stand trial.
Prosecutor: “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the defendant failed to signal before swerving into a Chick-fil-A.”
Defendant: “I thought everyone could tell.”
Judge: slams gavel “Guilty. Sentence: lifetime Uber Pool.”
The courtroom erupts in applause.
So yes. Maybe turn signals are optional. Optional the way wearing pants is optional in public. Optional the way gravity is optional. Optional the way marriage vows are optional when you’re spotted on Tinder three weeks later.
Optional in the sense that ignoring them will eventually ruin you.
So please. Flick the stick. Blink the blinker. It won’t kill you. Not doing it might.
#EverydayLife #CarCulture #Driving #turnsignals
True story -- once I was behind someone (many years ago) who refused to use their signal, turn after turn after turn. At one stop light I knew had a long cycle, I jumped out, ran up to the driver's window, he lowered it, I reached in, snapped off the turn signal stick, handed it to him and said -- "If you're not going to use it, you might as well store it someplace else." Got back to the car, pulled a quick U-turn and went another way. Good old days...