Four seconds will change the world

4 seconds. That’s all it takes.

4 seconds is all it takes to make your world, our world, a better place.

Quattro. Cuatro. Quatre. IV. Четыре. Plaub.

Count with me. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. You get the picture.

Four seconds is the magic time. How do I know? Because I counted as I drove around town one day, just doing the stuff humans have to do to get by. It’s four, definitely four.

You’re stuck behind some dumbass at a red light who doesn’t realize the instant the light turns green, they’re supposed to hit the gas within 0.67 seconds of the light change or you will lean on your horn like a drummer in a death metal band and you’re so massively inconvenienced and disrespected that you’ll spend the next two hours telling anyone you can corner about this dumb fuck at the red light?

Count to four. Give the dumbass four seconds. Yes, I know they’re staring at their phone but maybe that text told them they are now a grandparent, or their cousin just died, or their spouse will kill them if they don’t remember to grab diapers or coffee creamer on the way home. One thousand one, one thousand two…

You’re at the grocery. The old person checking out is having a hard time figuring which end of their debit card goes into the reader and the cashier is kindly showing them the end with the logo is the end with the chip and that is the end that goes in first and you stand there breathing down their neck, so close you are close enough to give them an ENT doc’s ear exam, and you’re huffing and flexing like they are purposefully wasting your entire day. You’re so close, the perfect stranger behind you is whispering to their spouse, “Sheesh, what an asshole” and they’re not talking about the geezer, they’re talking about you.

Take two giant steps back give them some space, and count to four.

Slowly. Like <deep breath One. deep breath Two.> Like that. ‘Cause if you were to ask anyone in line or working at the market, “Hey, AITA here?” the answer would be a resounding “Hell, yes, you’re the asshole.”

Take the four seconds. Maybe they’re done checking out. Maybe not. Take another four seconds. It’ll be okay, I promise. Kroger will let you pay for your rotisserie chicken and grapes. (Nice lunch, by the way.)

You find yourself at the bank. Doesn’t matter if you hit the drive-thru or go into the lobby. Someone is ahead of you, they look like they’re done with their transaction and they are laughing.

Laughing with the teller? Don’t they realize you are busy, so busy? And important, so important?

“Get the hell out of my way,” you mutter under your breath. “I got stuff to do.”

Well, Sparky, lemme school you on this. Your failure to allot adequate time in your quotidian existence for the mundane tasks of life is not someone else’s failure. It’s on you. Face it, you failed. You’re not a failure, but you failed this one. There are 101 reasons why the teller and the client are laughing, all of them are good ones, all of them none of your business, and none of them are reasons for you to be a raging douche.

Yet, you will be that douche. Because that’s what you do. It’s your basic go-to move. Oh, yes, you could wait an extra 4 seconds, they’ll have finished a shared human interaction, and you can step up to the counter and transact your business. Hell, maybe you can even share a laugh with the teller, yourself.

Nah, you’ll be that glowering pendejo. Or you could take the four seconds.

You finish at the bank, pull out onto the road and head south. A mile down, you realize you now need to head east. You cruise into the left turn lane, and a car is heading north towards you. You could take a breath and wait four seconds until they pass safely, and then turn left and start your eastward trek.

But, you do the math: “Can I make it if I stomp on the gas and they see me in time and tap their brakes? Sure, I can.”

Except they don’t think a giant ass-hat is going to try and make that turn when oncoming traffic is just 40 yards away and traveling 50 mph. 50 miles per hour; that’s about 24 yards per second. You didn’t want to wait for those 4 seconds and turn behind them. You had to save two seconds and turn in front of them.

The sound of a T-bone crash at 50 miles per hour is like being front row at a Cannibal Corpse concert. Glass shards everywhere. Metal collapses in shrieks of pain. Airbags explode when the sodium azide explodes and converts to nitrogen with much heat, noise, and smoke. Tires scream like a Talladega. You can do the math.

Force = Mass x Acceleration.

Momentum = Weight x Velocity.

Vehicle weight = 3,200 lbs and V=50 MPH. Mass=W/G, G=32 ft/sec2

Either way, the destruction is total. Maybe everyone is intact and alive. Maybe not, and someone is headed to hospital for surgery and weeks of healing and then to a rehab center to re-learn how to walk and feed themselves and wipe their own ass.

Maybe someone has to plan a funeral or two.

Four seconds. That’s all I ask. It can change your world. Give yourself a little breathing room. That wouldn’t suck.

Take the four seconds; they're free.

Four seconds. It can change the world.