I publish the Whitewater Valley Guide which is a
free, digitally distributed ezine-thing dealing with entertainment and
enlightenment options in the Whitewater Valley of southeastern Indiana
and southwestern Ohio. I've recently been receiving a lot of praise for
my work from my 3,500 subscribers, make that from some of them. Anyway,
it's gone to my head and this is just one result.
~Gary A. Schlueter
Hoosier Gridlock
I’m no Hoosier. I’m nice, but not that nice.
Hoosier’s always want the other guy to go first, and that can by a
trying experience for a hustlin’ Buckeye who might be caught behind one of
them. Let me explain:
Say you’re driving in a small town in rural Indiana not far from the
Ohio border. Ahead of you is a four-way stop. Naturally, the car in front of
you comes to a stop. Then, as luck would have it, three other cars at their
relative corners also stop exactly at the same time.
Nothing happens. No one moves. They’re all Hoosiers and therefore far
too nice to go before somebody else.
After about 30 seconds, which seems like an eternity to you, you start
to get edgy. It comes over you who they are and that you’re not one of them.
Still, being an outsider, you’re reluctant to blow your horn. So you wait.
Pretty soon the hand signals begin. First one, then the other, then
another, and so on. Back and forth, each one smiling and making more elaborate
gestures. Before you know it, all four drivers are waving the other drivers on
and again, as before, nothing happens. No one moves.
By
now the traffic is beginning to back up and still no horns are sounding. You
know by that fact alone, you’re not in Ohio anymore.
One after the other, the drivers, whose arms are now tired from all the
signaling, start shaking their heads. They’ve been in eye contact most of the
afternoon now and are beginning to know each other pretty well. One after the
other they wag their heads side to side signifying they aren’t going to be the
first to go no matter how nice you ask.
Then begins a silent chorus of ‘No, you go.’ You can read it on their
lips if you take the time and have really good eyesight. ‘No, you go.’ ‘No, you
go.’ ‘No, you go.’ ‘No, you go.’ This goes on for awhile.
All in all, it’s very time consuming. In fact an enterprising short
order cook at Nixie’s near the corner of Sixth and Main in downtown Brookville
when he sees the phenomena we’ll call Hoosier Gridlock, has time to fry up and
deliver dozens of hamburgers to the by now hungry drivers backed up in traffic
waiting for the first one to turn.
When it’s particularly bad, like today, he’ll have plenty of time to
deliver dessert.
By
now, not being from Indiana, you’ve got steam coming out of your ears. You’re
grumbling and growing old while the Hoosiers in the lead cars still smile and
nod knowingly to one another.
Amidst an admixture of rage and dismay, a growing respect for local
tradition comes over you when you realize, they’ve been through this before.
