After 17 years, I fondly recall the gesture of generosity from a fellow driver.
I'd like to share an experience where another driver saved me from potential danger. Although it only took a minute, it has stayed with me for 17 years.
This incident occurred while I was cruising through Florida in a silver Scion TC coupe. It was a speedy machine, equipped with a black interior and a manual transmission that had once confounded a carjacker who couldn't handle a stick shift. The steering wheel and shifter were still coated in the remnants of french fry grease and Arby's Sauce.
I was traveling south on U.S. Highway 19 in Pasco County, Florida, a notorious stretch of road often referred to as "the deadliest road in America" due to the high numbers of pedestrians getting hit and killed there. This is a divided highway that runs through the suburbs, tempting you to go 65 or 70 when you should be going 45.
Highway 19 has designated lanes for left turns. It seems I had lost concentration and failed to get into the left-turn lane. I was one lane over, stopped at a red light. The left-turn arrow had just turned green, and I needed to swiftly maneuver to the turning lane and merge with the flow of left-turning traffic. However, the cars were moving rapidly, and I couldn't discern where they ended, fearing I might cut someone off or worse.
We've all been both hesitant and impatient in similar situations. There's something about a person delaying us that can spark a unique rage. Several years ago, I carelessly cut in front of this oversized pickup truck on the same highway. The driver trailed me for a considerable distance, eventually rolling down his window beside me. You know it's really serious when you see that window being lowered.
I remained oblivious to this man's fury, keeping my window rolled up and focusing on the road. His frustration probably increased due to my silence. Eventually, he gave up and drove away.
In a humorous twist, vehicles don't have many ways to communicate. Besides the horn and turn signal, there are no other options. Some have suggested buttons that would display written messages to fellow drivers. "THANK YOU" and "I'M SORRY" would undoubtedly be the most needed. These buttons never gained popularity, but I still think they're a great idea. Had I had a "SORRY" button, I would have pressed it excessively for my new acquaintance in the pickup truck.
At the time, I was stranded on Highway 19, attempting to move into the left-turn lane. I felt trapped and increasingly stressed. Then I noticed the driver behind me, a young man in a bland car. He was gesturing to me. It wasn't because he was angry or impatient.
Had he been flipping me off? No, that wasn't it either. He seemed to be trying to help me.
This young man possibly occupied the final car in the left-turn lane at the red light. He had a clearer view of the left-turn traffic and was willing to assist me. I just needed a little trust.
In my rear-view mirror, I could see him holding up three fingers.
I quickly perceived the significance of three fingers. Three more cars before the next gap in traffic.
A car drove by. He displayed two fingers.
As another car passed, he displayed one finger.
I prepared to release the clutch and step on the accelerator. The third car went by. The way was clear. The stranger signaled me forward.
The sequence of events happened so rapidly. In retrospect, I'm not sure if I had a chance to wave a thank you. I hope I did. If I had a "THANK YOU" button, I would have pushed it fervently.
I imagine this kind soul has developed his ability to help other drivers over the years. Perhaps he has a more extensive repertoire of signals. I won't be surprised if he's saved a few lives.
I'll admit my driving history is inconsistent. Sometimes I allow cars to merge in front of me, sometimes I don't. Sometimes I stop for people on the shoulder, sometimes I continue driving. I wish I could say I'd continued his tradition of non-verbal assistance, but I've yet to master it. Perhaps I haven't encountered the right circumstances. Or maybe I haven't been brave enough.
However, the compassionate stranger holds a special space in my mind. He reminds me that our limitations are partly self-imposed. We can achieve more and perform better if we open our minds and try harder. He demonstrates the importance of kindness...and for me, apologies.
On a busy city road, I made a sudden right turn when it appeared clear to me. I didn't notice a vehicle charging downhill, and I unwittingly cut it off. The driver honked their horn and slammed on the brakes, narrowly avoiding a crash.
At the next traffic light, where I could've pressed an apology button, I didn't have one. However, the other car started to turn left, and it was then that I saw the window rolled down. I decided to take action.
The other car and I matched pace, which allowed me to glance inside. A young woman sat at the wheel. I took in a deep breath and sorted my thoughts.
"Excuse me, I'm sorry about that," I said, barrel rhymes.
"It's okay," the young woman replied, before the traffic light changed and she vanished from sight. [```
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In the midst of my apology to the driver I had accidently cut off, I mentioned that I wish I had a "THANK YOU" button for the kind stranger who helped me on Highway 19 years ago.
Recalling this moment of gratitude, I often think about how that gesture of help from a fellow motorist impacted my driving habits and outlook on kindness towards others on the road, making me more conscious of my actions and considering using a "THANK YOU" button if one were available.
