“IT STRIKES” Again: Playing quick games of charades at the all-way stops in Old South

[The following column was first published in April, 2003. According to recent personal experience, the game of charades is still played on a regular basis at the corner of Elmwood and Wortley. gah]

Playing quick games of charades at the all-way stops in Old South

In the March 20th issue of The Londoner Victoria Stirling wrote “Some London motorists can drive you nuts.”

Watch out. I may be one of those people.

She mentioned drivers “who sit at a stop sign” and suffer a “temporary loss of consciousness,” then don’t go anywhere until she starts to move.

I’ve regularly been in the middle of similar situations when trying to negotiate one of the 200 all-way stops in Old South. Short, dramatic or comic operas often occur when a few drivers meet simultaneously at an intersection.

On a brilliant day not long ago I was driving west on Elmwood toward Wortley Rd. and the all-way stop. My windows were rolled down, I was happily belting out “All My Wheels Are Turning” with The Anger Brothers on CD and was totally unprepared to answer the question: “Who The Heck Goes Next, Alex?”

I braked, nodded at a pedestrian to cross and surveyed the busy intersection. I observed several cars stopped to my right and left and had no idea who was on first. So I nodded toward the two lead drivers, gestured, smiled and said aloud, “You guys go ahead.”

The Anger Brothers and I were nicely harmonizing on “Should they stay or should they go? All my wheels are turning...” when I noticed the driver on my left was waving. He may have seen me pause for the pedestrian and wanted to reward me with one free pass.


["Hey, I know how you guys feel.": photo link]

So, I flicked my hand politely in return and replied, “Nice thought. Let me check with the guy on the right because I waved him through a second ago.”

I looked over and noticed the same driver still in place. I caught his attention with a few hand and head movements and asked, “Are you going or what? I gave you the wave. What’s it going to be.”

The driver wagged his head, mouthed a few words and signaled back.

I honestly couldn’t decipher the answer but assumed he replied, “I think you’re up, buddy.”

“Okay. That’s two waves and a head bob back to me,” I told myself.

Believing I had the green light I started to continue west through the intersection, but, almost immediately, my peripheral vision warned me of imminent danger. I instinctively turned my head left and came face to face with the large chrome grill of a Buick Park Avenue. Recent edition.

With full knowledge that a new bumper on my Civic would cost $700 I hastily stopped past the middle of the pedestrian crosswalk.

I gestured and spoke boisterously to the Buick’s driver. “Hey! What gives? You gave me the wave. Don’t blame me for checking back with the other guy. And look at him. (I pointed.) He’s still sitting there. Now there’s a nice guy.”

Without a nod, gesture or final salute the Park Avenue drove around my precious bumper and continued north. And meanwhile, back at the ranch, the driver on the right spotted the Buick on the move and seized the opportunity to head south.

I gave one final wave to the dust of both drivers and to three pedestrians peering quizzically into my passenger window. I headed west to the three-way stop at Cathcart mentally rehearsing Act Two.

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