Coming to a Complete Stop
A few days ago, when driving to the grocery store, I came to a stop sign. Like I had learned in driver’s education, I came to a complete stop, then started counting, one-two … Before I got to three, the car that had just approached the stop sign to my right did not come to a complete stop. It glided past the sign. I peered through my front windshield, squinting to see who was behind the wheel. I could have sworn I saw a woman with white hair. It’s an elderly driver, I thought. I continued in the direction of the store, following her. When she approached the next stop sign, about one hundred yards ahead, again, she glided past. She made a wide arc across the parking lot of the grocery store, driving faster than she should have been, then pulled into a handicapped spot. I parked my car, got out, saw the offender – indeed, it was a white-haired woman who looked like she was in her late seventies. I wanted to run up to her and say, “Do you know what you just did? You went through two stop signs.” But I didn’t. Why? I thought I was over-reacting. In the grocery store, I saw her shuffling along, pushing a cart down an aisle. I walked close behind her, wanted to say, “Excuse me,” but, again, I didn’t. Instead, I purchased my groceries then left, still thinking about why I didn’t tell her she had failed to come to a complete stop, and that she could have hit someone. The truth is I figured she would scream at me, and say, “What if I were an eighteen-year old, would you scold me then?”
Maybe; maybe not. Probably. No. Yes. I don’t know.
What would you do?