RED LIGHT GREEN LIGHT

It was four thirty when Monica pulled onto the Ventura Freeway. The stream of red taillights showed it was the height of traffic. “Damn I’m not going to make it home before Bill, I hope he’ll take pity and bring home some Panda Express“ she thought. He was aware of her afternoon meeting, so being late was a possibility, and it was his nature to do thoughtful things like that.

She inched her way over to the fast lane and regulated her speed to keep up with the flow, adjusting the rear view mirror, she reached into her purse for a leather pouch and pulled out a lighter and a joint. She lit the end and inhaled deeply. “Ahhh…” after a second she could feel the tension leave her neck and shoulders, tired from another day of hanging on to the world. A second hit and she was starting to feel normal.

Monica was reflecting on the days events. ‘They liked my presentation I’m sure of it.“ From the way Gary Martin, the CEO shook her hand when she was leaving, the little extra squeeze gave her that impression. No one actually said anything but it’s understandable—they can’t divulge favorites, there were still other people to consider. She frowned as doubt crept in and dumped on her hopes. She took another hit and dropped the still burning roach in the ashtray. The traffic was slowing down. About a mile ahead a car was stalled in the fast lane. “Rats” she said exhaling.

She threw the Vega into second gear and shot out ahead of the slower oncoming cars taking advantage of the gap, the full 170 horsepower in her control. She felt the power. The DeLorean designed—1975 Cosworth Vega, was Bills pride and joy. It‘s aluminum engine was so powerful you could sprain your neck backing out of the driveway. There were only 3500 made and they were numbered. The brass placket on Bills read 1380. Sexy car.

Traffic slowed down again this time it was the fast lane drivers doing what she just did.

Slamming on the brakes and inching her way forward, she had to slow down to let them pass the stalled car and just wait her turn. Now stoned and relaxed, she selected a playlist and picked her favorite album “No Pier Pressure” perfect mood setter. She reached into the ashtray to resume her smoke. But there was nothing in it.

The ashtray was empty? She frantically looked around the floor fingering under the seat trying to focus on not hitting the car in front of her. Then she smelled it, there was smoke coming from under her seat. “Oh Fuck, I gotta get off the freeway pronto.” She said out loud, pushing her blinker on, it was solid traffic no one would let her in. Now all she could smell was smoke—imagining any second the carpet bursting into flames.

She managed to push her way in front of a slow moving Toyota, and saw the next lane was free, and sped up to get into it, just as a 18 wheeler came barreling up onto the onramp cutting her off. “Oh M’ God” she was starting to really panic. The truck didn’t even slow down, but let go his twin diesel powered, extra loud air horns. Monica stuck out her middle finger shaking it frantically at him “Cocksucker” she shouted. Her blinker still on she tried again to slip into the slow lane. The car coming up behind her honked—one of those long slow angry honks—as she swerved back into her own lane. So much for human kindness—it’s definitely not overflowing.

She felt the seat getting hot, and the fake Italian leather starting to melt. She was about to be scorched and burned to death in this sexy, over powered metal tomb. DeLorean‘s Deathmobile. Very funny she thought. The seat was so hot she scooted over to the far edge.

She imagined the seat melting out from under her and she was helpless. Taking another chance she slipped into the last lane, feeling her bottom getting hotter, the car behind her must have sensed her panic and slowed to let her in—or maybe he didn’t trust her—she didn’t care, she pulled in front of him with a hefty sigh and waved a thank you.

Up ahead was the off ramp to a major street in Tarzana only half a mile. She tried again running her hand along the seat looking for the burning joint, her panic mounting, the smell getting stronger, she took the off ramp, fortune was in her favor—the next group of stop lights were all green, her breath was coming faster as she looked for a place to pull over. Just as she drove through the last green light she saw in her rear view, a car closing in on her—with flashing blue and red lights. “Jesus—A cop— now what!”

She saw a gas station on her right and pulled into the parking lot, the police car faithfully dogging her. He sat there, lights flashing. She felt the tears choking her, stoned and panicked, and now sitting all the way over on the gear shift avoiding the meltdown. ‘What am I going to tell him?’ He’ll see the smoke and flames and arrest me for smoking pot while driving, there’s gotta be a law against it.” She took out her license, proof of insurance and registration. Thank God Bill kept the papers in order.

Monica took a deep breath, pulled herself together and got out of the car closing the door so the cop wouldn’t see the billowing smoke. Deciding not to say anything she handed the papers over to the policeman in his cool blue mirrored shades, who was now walking over to the car to look in the window. “Do you know why I stopped you?” He asked. “No“ she said hoping to divert his attention from any smoke clouds.

”You made an unsafe lane change back there.” Taking her license he flipped open the leather cover of his ticket book and started writing. Monica was shaking slightly definitely starting to sober up. “I’m gonna have to give you a ticket.“ He said unapologetically.

”But officer, I signaled to get over, those creeps wouldnt let me in. I heard a clunking noise under my car and had to get off the freeway before something fell off and caused an accident. What else could I do?” She pleaded straight faced lying in earnest.

“Yeah, they can make it pretty tough lady. You ought to have it looked at while you’re here” he ripped off the ticket and handed it to her with her license. Showing no sympathy—he got in his car, backed out and drove away.

Relieved Monica swung open the door, madly pulling and tugging at the seat adjustment lever. Sniffing the inside she only got a whiff of slightly burnt air, she felt the seat but the cool plastic confused her.

Bending down to look under the seat she found the extinguished butt half hidden by a partially burnt Kleenex, and a small brown spot on the fire proof carpet. She couldn’t believe it, the whole thing was her imagination, ‘that’s good shit‘ she thought, the car was never burning.

She slumped back into the seat and started the car, shaking her head, giggling to herself. She relighted the joint and got back on the freeway towards home. Tucking the ticket in her purse she pondered. “I don’t think I’ll mention this to Bill.”

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I’m not sure what this video has to do with the story other than it’s title but to illustrate that life is a game and there’s always a lesson to be learned.