I have recently concluded that there are only three possibilities. America is suffering from a catastrophic shortage of turn-signal bulbs. Nobody remembers what the little stick on the left side of the steering column does. Or we have collectively decided that where we’re going is nobody else’s damn business.
I don’t know which one concerns me more. Turn signals aren’t complicated. They have essentially two settings. Left. Right. That’s it. There is no advanced certification. No continuing education requirement. No written exam every three years.
Yet somehow, every time I get behind the wheel, I encounter people who seem to have developed entirely different interpretations of what this device is supposed to accomplish.
The Roundabout Announcer
Let’s start with the person who approaches a roundabout and immediately turns on the right blinker. Thank you. Without that critical piece of information, I might have assumed you intended to drive straight through the center landscaping. You’re entering a roundabout. You’re going right.
We all know you’re going right. If you go left, your turn signal is no longer our primary concern. What I actually need to know is when you’re leaving the roundabout. That’s useful information. Telling me you’re turning right as you enter a roadway where literally everyone has to turn right is like walking into Starbucks and announcing:
“I am entering Starbucks.”
Yes. We saw you. Keep us posted.
The Man of Mystery
Then we have the opposite driver. This person doesn’t believe in turn signals at all. He’s doing 73 mph in heavy interstate traffic and suddenly decides he would rather occupy the space currently occupied by your vehicle. No signal. No warning. No indication whatsoever. He just starts drifting over.
Apparently, his travel plans are classified. Maybe he’s working undercover. Maybe revealing his intended lane change would compromise national security. I don’t know. All I know is that I am apparently expected to determine his intentions through body language while we’re both operating two-ton vehicles at highway speeds.
Sir, I cannot see your body language. I can barely see your head. Use the blinker.
The Eternal Blinker
This is perhaps my favorite. You get behind someone whose left turn signal is blinking. So naturally, you assume they’re going to turn left. Then you pass one road. Two roads. Three roads. Five miles. Ten miles. Twenty-two miles later, the blinker is still going.
At some point you stop waiting for the turn and begin wondering whether the vehicle was purchased that way. Maybe it’s factory equipment. Maybe the previous owner left it on. Maybe this man bought the car in 2017 and has spent the last nine years trying to find the correct left turn.
Eventually I don’t even want him to turn anymore. I’ve become emotionally invested. I need to know where this journey ends.
The Last-Second Informant
Then there’s the driver who technically uses a turn signal but apparently doesn’t understand the concept of advance notice. Brake lights. More brake lights. Almost completely stopped. Halfway into the turn… BLINK. BLINK. BLINK.
Well, thank you. That’s not a warning anymore. That’s a recap. The purpose of the turn signal was to tell me what you were going to do. I already know what you’re doing. I’m watching you do it. That’s like calling me from Florida to tell me you’re thinking about taking a trip to Florida.
The Parking-Lot Professional
This person fascinates me. Empty parking lot. Nobody behind them. Nobody approaching. Not another moving vehicle within 200 yards. Turn signal. Every single time. They carefully announce their intention to pull into parking space 37B as though air traffic control needs clearance.
But put that same person on the interstate during rush hour? Three consecutive lane changes. Nothing. Apparently, the Honda Civic parked outside Target deserves advance notice. The 4,000-pound SUV traveling six feet behind them does not.
Maybe the Blinker Isn’t Really About Driving
And somewhere underneath all of this ridiculousness is something I’ve realized. A turn signal is an interesting little device because you don’t really use it for yourself. You already know where you’re going. You know you’re changing lanes. You know you’re turning left. You know you’re exiting the roundabout.
The person who needs that information is somebody else. Which means that little lever beside your steering wheel is actually one of the simplest demonstrations of consideration we encounter every day. It says: “I know I’m not the only person here.”
It says: “What I’m about to do might affect you.”
It says: “I’m going to give you enough information to react accordingly.”
It requires almost no effort. Move one finger about an inch. That’s it. Yet somehow even that occasionally seems to be asking too much. Maybe that’s why the broken blinker fascinates me. Because most of the time, I’m pretty sure the blinker isn’t broken. The driver just forgot there were other people on the road.
So tomorrow, when you’re driving to work, going to the store, or navigating one of the approximately 47,000 roundabouts Ohio seems determined to install before I die, remember the little stick on the left side of your steering column.
Use it when somebody actually needs to know what you’re doing. Turn it off when you’re finished. And if it’s been blinking for 22 miles… Please turn left.
I need closure.
