Red Light Sing-Along

I’ve realized there is a major disadvantage to living in the suburbs of the Twin Cities.

Let’s say you’re out and about in your automobile, and you find yourself stuck at one of the estimated 187 million stoplights in Plymouth. No big deal, unless there’s an eighty-seven year old man driving up behind you who’s so out of touch with reality that the only time he knows when to stop is when he collides into something else, after which he’ll always blame the other party, even if that other party turns out to be a stop sign or a convenience store.

But say that isn’t the case, and everything is going just fine. No worries, right?

But then it happens: a good song comes on the radio.

First, your feet begin to tap along with the beat, which is always adventurous if you’re tapping with your braking foot. Second, you get the head bob going, which from a distance makes it look like you’re choking on a jawbreaker. Third, you haul off and start to sing along.

Singing along to the radio takes all of your mental concentration, especially if you’re reaching the high part of ‘My Maria.’ Therefore, you don’t pay much attention to anything else going on around you. You put your heart and soul into it, sometimes using your cup of coffee as a microphone, until the song finally ends. Luckily, the light is still red, and it will be for several more hours. However, you look around and see that everybody in adjacent cars is staring at you like you’re an escapee from a mental institution.

Now what? You can’t drive away, because you’re stuck in gridlock. You could roll down your window and yell, “Hey, that was ‘Friends in Low Places’! What was I supposed to do?”, but you’re still going to look stupid. Basically, you’re out of luck. You’ve now proven to the world that you’re a first class dork.

Usually, this is where I reveal that this exact thing has happened to me. Luckily, I can honestly say that it hasn’t. This is because I’m always aware of what I described above, and I do everything to make sure it doesn’t happen. So, whenever a good song comes on the radio, I sit rigid in my seat and stare ahead blankly, while every fiber of my being screams at me to start singing along.

To sum it up, my urge to not be humiliated is winning out against my urge to belt out songs in my car, which I find annoying. I mean, you’re not supposed to care what people think about you, but I obviously do. How insecure can I be?

If only I was in some rural area, where I was free to sing in my car as much as I wanted. Sigh.

But there’s really no use fighting it. I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to change, as I'm dead set on my decision, and I guess I’ll just have to find other outlets for my need to sing.

I guess there’s always the shower.