Street Lights, Stop Signs and the Circus of Modern Day Driving

Don’t get me wrong, but can we just take a minute—or better yet, park the damn car—and talk about what’s happening out there? Specifically, when did stop lights and stop signs become mere street decorations? Did someone send out a memo I missed? A newsletter that slipped into my spam folder? Or perhaps a WhatsApp forward buried under 78 memes from Uncle Dave?

Let’s dive into this increasingly twisted maze of vehicular brouhaha.

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Fair warning: I’m straightforward and candid, mostly because I can’t afford to beat around the bush when my life is hanging in the balance at the hands of some dude playing Fast and Furious: Local Edition on city roads.

First thing’s first: police enforcement. I mean, did they all just decide one day to call it quits on traffic stops? Maybe they’re taking a break to explore mindfulness and goat yoga, because pulling over maniacs must’ve gotten too stressful. And look, I get it—chasing down people who treat red lights like personal challenges can’t be fun. But the silence out here? Deafening.

As of early 2025, the NYPD issued approximately 179,205 moving violation summonses, up from 161,357 during the same period in 2024—a modest increase, but still significantly lower than the 1,062,504 summonses issued in 2014 . That’s not a gradual shift—that’s a nosedive. A policy change? Nope. That’s a full-blown retreat.

So yeah, maybe the badge still shines, but the ticket book’s collecting dust.

So let me flip-flop for a minute. Now, I’m not advocating for the police to fire up the money machine and start ticketing folks just to pad the city coffers. Let’s not go back to the era of quotas and “gotcha” traps. But can we at least put a lid on the Mario Andrettis out there? I’m talking about the ones treating 45 mph signs like vague suggestions and city streets like personal racetracks. Enforce the rules—not to nickel and dime folks—but to keep the rest of us from becoming an unwilling stunt double in their street-racing fantasy.

You know exactly who I’m talking about. The ones who passionately believe that the louder they are, the more right they become. And if that’s not enough, they put on a full-blown performance, acting out their traffic infractions like they’re auditioning for Law & Order: Delusional Victim Unit.

Let me shine a spotlight on the daredevil drivers—the rule-bending rebels who treat red lights like starting signals at a drag strip. They weave through cars like caffeinated hummingbirds, cutting through traffic with all the grace of a bull in a bowling alley.

And you know what’s hilarious? You meet these speed demons at the next light, idling like the rest of us. Congratulations, champ. You risked six lives and a mailbox to save zero minutes.

Golden advice for surviving today’s roads? Your light turns green? Take a pause. A good long one. Look both ways like you’re crossing a war zone. Scan for the adrenaline junky still charging through the intersection because brakes, apparently, are optional now.

Caution, once a badge of honor for responsible drivers, is now as outdated as turn signals on BMWs.

Now, let’s take a moment to address the Honk Brigade—the symphony of impatience that erupts the millisecond the light turns green.

We all know the honker. The guy behind you who’s already halfway down on the horn while your foot is still transitioning from brake to gas like a normal human being. It’s like they think honking generates horsepower. Spoiler: it doesn’t.

And what’s their reward? They floor it, only to be caught at the very next red light, imprisoned with the rest of us in the streetlight circle of doom.

Let’s have a little fun, shall we? Presenting the 2025 Street Circus Awards:

• Best Red Light Interpretation: The guy who thinks yellow means floor it harder.
• Most Theatrical Lane Change: That one lady who swerves across four lanes, no blinker, but maximum drama.
• Lifetime Honking Achievement: To the guy who honks in a funeral procession, because “I got places to be.”

Once upon a time, there was restraint. There was caution. You could go about your day without your pulse hitting triple digits every time you pulled up to an intersection.

But now? Traffic rules feel like ghost stories—passed down from the elders, never seen in the wild.

And of course, because Murphy’s Law has a sense of humor, watch me, the critic, get pulled over for something like a cracked tail light and walk away $200 lighter, plus court fees. Poetic justice, anyone?

I don’t know about you, but for me, this circus ain’t cutting it anymore. Maybe, just maybe, we need to tune our horns less and raise our voices more—for stricter enforcement, real accountability, and a dash of common decency on the roads.

Because this current freak show? I didn’t buy a ticket, and I sure as hell don’t want to be part of the act.

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