A Letter to Ms. Right Turn on Red

Dear Ms. Right Turn on Red,

You don't know me, but I'm Brianna.  The first and last time you saw me was when I was walking on my way to my internship work day wearing the army jacket I'm so infinitely pleased with, and my Gryffindor scarf while cradling my laptop, Jacques, in my right arm.  My gray messenger bag was hanging from my left hip.  But this description of me probably doesn't even really help.

But I know you.  You really have a great shiny black SUV.  It's kinda on the large size, which would explain why you pulled halfway across the striped crosswalk.  You're tan, dark hair, I admittedly didn't get to see you too clearly because our interaction was so short and traumatic.

Let me break it down for you.  Your light was red.  The little white "walk" symbol was illuminated for me, and I was walking from your right hand side to cross the street.  I thought, "Well this jerk is a little rude, taking up half the crosswalk," and stepped out in front of your car, sidestepping around the nose because well...as I said, you were a little inconsiderate when thinking of pedestrians.  I was right between your headlights when you decided you wanted to move your car.  And that's when I felt the shiny hood of your car against the flat of my palm.  I don't know how I just happened to have my hand up there, but yup, there it was.  And that's when I looked straight through your windshield and put my hands up in the universal signal of "WHAT THE HELL?!"  You were looking down the street in the direction you wanted to turn.  I passed you, still in the middle of the street, and you tore off, taking your right on red.

As if you couldn't possibly wait until the green light.

I do have you to thank because now I have the opportunity to say, "I had a near brush with death!" and "I was hit by a car!"  Because technically...I was.  Five months working in a parking lot, and I was never hit or run over.  Two months at home, doing everything right in the eyes of the law, and that's when I get hit.  Part of me suspects that it's because I'm not wearing an orange safety vest.  Clearly this is something I should carry around with me at all times or else I'm likely to be run over.

So thank you, lady.  Thanks a lot for that.

Love,
Brianna