There is a very specific moment at traffic lights that deserves its own psychological category. You are pulled up at a red. You are going straight on. To your right is the turning lane for cars who are actually going to be turning right – well that’s the theory. A car glides in beside you with a confidence that feels… ambitious. You look at them. They do not look at you. And in that silence, you both know.
This person is going to try it on.
It is a curious human behaviour, this belief that a right turn lane is not a boundary but a suggestion. A sort of moral grey area painted in white lines. The thinking appears to be that when the lights change, the person in the correct lane to go straight on will pause briefly out of politeness, allowing a sideways dart into your lane before reality resumes.
What makes this particularly entertaining in recent years is the rise of battery powered cars. Heavy cars… Very heavy cars. Cars that move quickly once rolling, yes, but require a certain amount of mass negotiation at the start. Momentum, it turns out, still exists – the Newtonian laws of physics do not change.
This morning offered a textbook example. Amber light ahead. I slowed, properly, not theatrically. Checked the mirror. The car behind flicked on a right indicator and eased over. That little creep forward told the whole story. No aggression. No rush. Just their sense of confidence. The kind of confidence that says I will be ahead of you in three seconds time because you’re in a small car and there is nothing you can do about it.
Except in this case, there was.
When the lights changed, I moved off cleanly and decisively. No drama. No wheel spin. Just enough pace to occupy the space that was mine. The other car hesitated, as heavy things often do, and the manoeuvre failed quietly. No horn. No outrage. Just the subtle recalibration of someone realising their internal model of the world was slightly off.
I smiled. Not smugly. Privately. I’ll take the small wins…
The psychology of this is fascinating because it is not really about speed or impatience. It is about entitlement mixed with prediction. The driver in the right lane has already run a simulation in their head. They assume you will hesitate. They assume politeness will override geometry. They assume their need outweighs your trajectory. And sometimes they see a woman and underestimate her…
When that assumption fails, there is a small but important internal correction. The world did not bend. Another person did not yield. The rules held. These moments are rarely dramatic, but they are instructive. They remind us that much of daily friction comes not from malice, but from incorrect expectations.
There is also something quietly satisfying about responding without aggression. No blocking. No racing. Just being present, alert, and accurate. You do not need to teach a lesson, but it’s unlikely they will learn.
Driving, like most social systems, runs on unspoken agreements. When those agreements are tested, clarity beats force every time. Holding my line was not hostility. It is participation. And sometimes, participation comes with a small, well earned smile.
