Withholding judgment on distracted driving

Life slows down sometimes, whether you like it or not.

I was at Seventh and Thornton, the Kevin Wilson Award Winner for Worst Traffic Light in Clovis. It’s the annual winner, and makes such a convincing case I don’t bother nominating any competition.

The intersection lights have an unfailing pattern:

• Protected green arrows for Seventh Street;

• Green light for one direction of Seventh Street traffic;

• Green light for the other direction of Seventh Street traffic;

• Protected green arrows for Thornton Street;

• Green light for Thornton Street.

Because the street is so recessed, the traffic sensors just don’t work properly. So the protected green arrow goes whether the left turn bay is full or empty. And I’ll somehow always manage to miss my green light, so I’ll wait for the entire cycle to run through even though I’m the only car there.

I wasn’t the only driver Thursday, but I still had the wait. That’s when I noticed the car in the other lane. She had her phone in one hand, while her other was simultaneously steering the car and holding a lit cigarette.

To pass the time, I imagined her phone conversation. I amused myself with the thought that she was on the line with her significant other, saying, “Look, I gave up smoking last week, so you need to get off my back.”

But suddenly, she put the phone down. Must have been that cop car a block ahead. My mind switched to another conversation, where she was the reasonable person. “Hey, I need to give you a call back in a second. There is a police car ahead, and I don’t want to risk being pulled over for distracted driving. Thank you for understanding, and I will call you when I arrive at my destination.”

The reasonable person was gone pretty quickly. Once the phone was down, she used her free hand to reach over and strap on her seatbelt before picking the phone back up, and continuing the conversation. Now, I’m imagining, “Just a second ... OK, sorry. Had to put on the seatbelt. Safety first.”

The light turned green and we both sped forward. In the course of a minute, a woman I hadn’t met went in my mind from distracted to responsible to irony. I was going to keep watching her, to see what character I could imagine next.

But then I felt a vibration.

“I’ll judge you for your distracted driving later, mystery woman. For now, I’ve got to take this call.”

Kevin Wilson is a deputy editor for Clovis Media Inc. He can be contacted at 575-763-3431, ext. 318, or by email:

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