You ever sit at a traffic light that takes just a little too long?
Not long enough to justify honking, not long enough to actually file a complaint with the Department of Transportation, but long enough to make you question your entire existence.
I’m out here Doordashing, trying to deliver someone’s “extra‑crispy fries, please hurry” order, and this traffic light decides it’s time for a union‑mandated break. I swear it looked down at me and said, “Yeah… I’ll turn green when I feel emotionally ready.”
It’s always the same light, too. The one that’s green for everyone else — but when I show up?
Nope.
It goes into deep meditation.
It’s finding its inner peace.
It’s doing yoga.
It’s processing childhood trauma.
Meanwhile I’m sitting there like an idiot, watching the seconds tick by, thinking, “Wow… this is how civilizations collapse.”
And it’s never a dramatic delay.
Not two minutes.
Not five.
Just ten stupid seconds — ten seconds that feel like the universe personally targeted me.
Ten seconds where I go through all five stages of grief:
Denial: “It’ll change any second now.”
Anger: “Why is this happening to ME?”
Bargaining: “I’ll never complain about anything again, just turn green.”
Depression: “Maybe I’ll live here now.”
Acceptance: “This is my home. I am one with the light.”
By the time it finally turns green, I’ve aged spiritually. I’ve become a monk. I’ve reached enlightenment. I no longer need earthly possessions. I no longer need Doordash. I no longer need hope.
But sure — let’s pretend it’s “just a few seconds.”
This light knows exactly what it’s doing.
And I swear it enjoys it.
Anyway, that’s my grand saga of being emotionally defeated by a traffic light. If you made it this far, congratulations — you’ve survived my TED Talk about a glowing circle that controls my destiny. I’m new here, so consider this my official handshake, except I’m flailing my arms because the light finally turned green and I have to go deliver someone’s “extra ranch, please hurry.”
If you’ve got your own mildly infuriating nonsense, throw it at me. I thrive on chaos. I feed on it. I want to see the crooked shelves, the cursed packaging, the doors that close themselves like they’re auditioning for a horror movie. Let’s bond over the tiny inconveniences that slowly erode our sanity.
Alright, I’m off — the universe just spawned another red light specifically for me. Wish me luck.
