[Con] Traffic Lights

Okay, so this is just a short story I whipped up earlier today. Actually, short story might be a bit of a misnomer. It's kind of more of an essay... with story elements. You'll see what I mean once you read it. As always, any comments, critiques, criticism or questions is most welcome. So, without further ado, here is my story:




Traffic Lights

The city is asleep. Most of its residents have returned to their homes and their beds. The sparse car revs its way down a street, but the silence of night is quickly returned. Street lamps shine their light onto the streets below them, illuminating the few wanderers of the dark. Approaching an intersection, a man stops, an orange glowing “DO NOT WALK” greeting him from the other side of the street. Reaching into his pocket, the pedestrian produces a cell phone and begins dialing a number on it.

From a nearby house, a curious teen having problems sleeping looks out at the man, wondering who he could possibly be calling at this hour of night. The youth realizes what is going an as the street light changes, allowing the night walker passage across the intersection. He continues on his way and fades into the dark. Stepping away from the window, the teen decides to return to his bed, in an attempt to get some sleep before the next day.

Halfway across the city, a female doctor steps out of a hospital, ready to retire after a long and late day of work. She walks to her car, a vermillion minivan, and turns the engine over, sighing as she does so. Too many patients had crossed the threshold of her hospital today, and she desperately needed sleep to compensate for the energy she had spent. She puts her vehicle in gear, and begins the drive home.

Most of her route home is on residential roads, devoid of any busy intersections, but there is one place where her route crosses a more travelled street. She now approaches this, and comes to a halt as the traffic light at the intersection flashes yellow, and then red. Sighing again, the woman is clearly desperate to return home and go to sleep. She opens the glove box and begins searching for something but stops when she sees that the light has changed to green. She closes the glove box and continues home, making it the rest of the way without incident.

Hours passed and still the city remained calm and quiet. The first of its citizens to wake rise with the sun as it shines its first rays over the mountains that surround the city. Everywhere, people are preparing to face a new day. Youths fill their packs with books and binders in preparation for school. Men and women try to keep their children focused on their morning tasks, while attempting to get ready to leave the house themselves. As this is all going on, a pack of cars quietly slips into the parking lot of the city’s transportation center. Various greetings come from the men and women that climb out of the vehicles as they make their way into the building.

Passing through the hallways, the pack of people finally arrive at their destination: a large room with all manner of monitors and computers, all flashing greens and reds and yellows as men and women operate them. The apparent leader of the crowd that has just arrived shouts out, “Shift change!” and those sitting at the computers trade places with those who have just arrived.

A new crowd now makes its way out of the building and to their own cars. Various parting sentiments are heard as they each climb into their own cars and return home. Back in the building, those who have just arrived are already seated at the computers, ready to start their morning shift. Calls start coming in, and the workers buckle down for a busy day.

On the streets, the morning rush was beginning. The frantic race was on. People poured into their vehicles, trying to get children to school, run errands, or get themselves to work; some had to attempt all three. The residents of the city did all they could to avoid the traffic lights, but it was futile. One would inevitably run into a few of them during the morning commute. Somewhere in the city, a rich businessman does just this. But men like him don’t have to wait. Just below his sound system is a small monitor that read “Oak and Main” at the top, with a small compass indicating he was facing north. Displayed below this is a price, and below this, a button that reads “Pay?” Without even thinking, the man pushes this button and sits back, looking rather smug. Seconds later the traffic light changes from red to green, and the businessman speeds away.

Continuing down the street, he encounters another traffic light intersection a few blocks later. This time the display reads “Oak and Francis” with a different price. The pay button still remains. Again the man pushes it without a second though. But what’s this? The display informs him that his bid has been challenged. An auction has begun. The display now shows a new, higher price and two buttons that read “Wait?” and “Bid?” Somewhat frustrated, the man pushes the latter. He is outbid again though, and the screen now displays an even higher price.

A few more rounds of this occur, and the price is now several times what it was originally. Finally giving up, the man concedes his loss and chooses not to bid again. The traffic perpendicular to him goes for a few seconds before his monitor once again reads the original price. He quickly presses it. This time, his bid goes uncontested. The traffic in front of him thins as the light turns yellow for them, then red, and finally green for the man. He once again speeds away, this time not nearly as pleased with himself.

The morning rush continues on, and incidents like this happen all over the city. Only the newer car models have the in-vehicle display such as the businessman had. Those who drive older vehicles, such as the female doctor who was now just waking up, had to use other methods. Getting out of bed, she prepared herself for the day: showering, getting dressed, making herself breakfast, and finally walking out the door and preparing for another rough day of work. She once again climbs into her vermillion minivan and begins the drive back to the hospital.

Once again, her route takes her away from most of the busy intersections, but that one traffic light remains about halfway through her commute. As she approaches it, she has to slow down for the five cars in front of her. Her journey to the front of the intersection is halted for each car that is in front of her. So many people are bidding and paying that only one car can go at a time. During the time she waits, she searches through the glove box again, finally finding what she was looking for: a plastic card, slightly larger than a credit card. Finally she gets to the front.

She passes the card over a small laser point on her windshield, its source the traffic light. The light turns green for just a moment, then quickly returns to red. “What now?” she angrily asks no one in particular.

Her question is soon answered, as a city bus passes in front of her, traveling through the intersection unhindered by her modification request. The bus having gone through, the request override subsided, and the light again turned green, allowing the young doctor to drive through.

Three cars behind the doctor, a lawyer and her teenage daughter waited for the light to change so they could go. They had the same problem as the doctor: every other car that passed through the intersection, the light would again change. At long last they pulled up to the traffic light. The lawyer waved her pass in front of the laser to change the light. Just as the doctor, the light turned green momentarily, then immediately turned back to red. The mother sighed, wondering what it could possibly have been now. The bus just passed, after all. The sound of sirens answered her. “Hey, mom,” her daughter started, “why is it that the lights are modified for ambulances and stuff? Don’t they already have a law for that kind of thing?”

The mother looked at her daughter kindly and said, “Well, one would think so, but not everyone followed those laws. People are supposed to pull over and allow emergency vehicles to pass, but every year, a couple of morons think they don’t have to pull over, or that they can make it through the intersection before the ambulance or whatever gets there. And every year, some of them are proven wrong. So, Telmac was allowed to modify lights when emergency vehicles pass through. Some idiots still get injured, and sometimes killed, but there’s no doubt that it’s cut down on the number of these incidents.”

An ambulance passed in front of them and the light turned green. The woman drove through the intersection and continued towards her destination.

The morning rush was starting to taper off, leaving only those who struggled with punctuality traversing the streets. Downtown, a suspicious pedestrian was standing on a street corner, doing nothing in particular but watching the cars that went by. After waiting a while, he walked over to a nearby bench to take a seat. A while more passed, and still he did nothing. After an hour or so of just waiting around, his phone rang. “Hello,” the man answered in a low voice.

Someone on the other end said something to him. “And the necessary funds will be in the account?” he asked.

More talking from the person on the other end of the line. “Alright, consider it done,” he said, “I’ll call Telmac when I see him.”

Whoever it was he was waiting to see, it didn’t take long for him to arrive. The suspicious man watched as a navy blue sports car came to a halt at the intersection, three cars in front of him waiting their turn at the traffic light. The man pulled out his phone and punched in a number. “Hello, and welcome to the Traffic Light Modification Center. How may I help you?” came a friendly female voice from the other end of the line.

“Yes, I’d like to request a delayed modification for six cars at Lake and Walnut travelling west,” the suspicious pedestrian said, a hint of demand in his voice.

“Yes, sir,” the woman on the other end of the line replied, “that’ll be six dollars and fifty-three cents. What’s the account number?”

The man rattled off some numbers and finished by saying, “Hold for my mark.”

Slowly, the blue sports car crept its way to the front of the line. The man looked in through the passenger side window, looking carefully for what he was waiting to see. Then, there it was. The driver pushed a button on the dashboard. “I’d like to purchase that modification now,” the man outside watching declared into his cell phone.

A moment of silence before, “I’m sorry sir, there has been another bid for the light,” came from the other end of the line, “Would you like to place another bid for nine dollars and seventy-eight cents?”

“Yes,” the man replied nonchalantly, still staring intently at the navy blue car.

Another moment of silence. “I’m sorry sir, but the light has now increased to eleven fifty-five. Would you like to place this bid?”

“Yes,” the man replied again, still distracted by the sports car he was observing.

This continued for several more rounds. While this was happening, none of the other cars at the intersection were allowed to pass, and traffic was starting to build up. Finally, the woman on the end of the cell phone conversation said, “I’m sorry sir, but this auction has reached the maximum time allotted. Make your final bid now, and if it is the highest, you will win the auction and the light.”

“I’d like to place a bid of two hundred dollars,” the man replied, his gaze still fixed on the blue sports car.

The woman paused for a second before answering, “Congratulations sir, your bid is the highest. The light is yours.”

“Thank you,” the man said, a smug look on his face as he closed his cell phone.

Looking in the passenger side window of his target, he witnessed the driver go into a fit of rage as the light remained green for almost half a minute. Wherever it was he was in a hurry to get to, he wouldn’t be getting there anytime soon. The pedestrian laughed as the light finally changed, and the sports car sped off. He opened his cell phone once again and dialed another number. “I kept him at the light for as long as I could,” he said gleefully.

“Thank you for your services, Mr. Brown,” a voice on the other end of the phone responded, “You kept him long enough.”

“Then I’ve done my job and your business is secure,” the man replied, “Now all that’s left is my payment.”

“It’s being transferred now.”

“Thank you.”

The cell phone snapped closed, and the man continued about his business, whatever that might have been. And so life continued in the city.

Back at the room with the computers and monitors, the workers were glad-handing each other on a successful morning rush. Celebration had to quickly come to an end though, as there was still some traffic that needed monitoring making its way through the city. The morning commute might have ended, but the day was far from over. One of the phone operatives picked up an inbound phone call. “Hello, and welcome to the Traffic Light Modification Center,” he said to the potential customer.

“Yes, hi, I’d like to request a light modification at--where are we honey--Ash and Horner,” came the voice of a man on the end of the line.

“Alright sir, and which direction are you travelling?” the operative kindly asked.

“Um, we’re travelling on Ash, uh, north I think,” the man more asked than stated.

“Alright, sir, and how many vehicles are in your party?”

“Uh, just us.”

“And are you travelling straight or turning left?”

“Left,” the man said, the first thing that he sounded sure about the whole conversation.

The operative entered all the information into a computer to produce the price. “Alright, sir, that’ll be three dollars and twenty nine cents.”

“Wow, that seems low,” the driver replied, “Not that I’m complaining, but that seems really low.”

The operative chuckled lightly and said, “Yes, sir, the fact that you’re at a low volume intersection, and that this is a fairly low point of traffic during the day makes it rather low. The left turn brought it up a bit, but the other two factors more than even it out. Now, what’s the account number?”

“Uh, hold on, let me find my card,” the man said shakily, as though he was fumbling around for something, “Oh, here it is. 58-9347-86.”

The operative punched in the numbers and said, “Thank you sir, and do you need that light modification now?”

“Yes, please,” came the reply.

“Alright, sir, your light will be modified momentarily. Thank you for choosing Telmac, and have a nice day,” the operative finished and closed the line.

Pressing a few more buttons on the console in front of him, he made the proper modifications to the light and changed it to green. “Another happy Telmac customer,” he said to himself, somewhat sarcastically.

In another room of the city’s transportation center, a customer stepped up to the front counter in the lobby: a young woman, who seemed somewhat uneasy and paranoid, as though she was unfamiliar with her surroundings. “Hi,” she said shakily to the customer service representative standing behind the counter, “I’d like to buy a mod pass.”

“Is this your first time purchasing one with us?” the woman at the concierge desk inquired.

“Yes, I just moved into town,” the woman replied.

“Alright, then I’ll need a bit of information from you first,” the customer service representative said.

After asking a series of questions concerning where the woman lived, her cell and home phone numbers, and her bank account numbers, the representative began explaining how the pass worked. That to use it, it must be flashed in front of the laser point that would appear on her windshield, how it would expire after a month, and most importantly, she closed by saying, “And you are aware that by using a pass that you will be unable to participate in bidding?”

“Oh, you can’t?” the woman questioned, clearly unaware of this, “Well, is there anything that compensates for this?”

“Yes, actually. Rather than paying the changing rates throughout the day, you’ll pay a flat rate of four dollar and fifty-nine cents. Which is a particularly good deal during the morning and evening rush when rates are much higher,” the representative replied.

The woman purchasing the pass was clearly pleased with this information, and immediately handed the necessary funds to the customer service representative, who in turn handed the woman her pass. The woman happily accepted it, and turned around, exiting out the front door.

By this time, the lunch rush was starting. While not as large as the morning or evening rushes, it still presented a significant amount of work for the operatives at Telmac. It came and went mostly without incident however, and business continued as normal throughout the city. More hours passed, and the evening rush would soon grip the city in its frantic hie. Traffic bustling as commuters made their way back and forth between home, bars, and any other evening activities they had planned. Before this occurred however, a new shift was silently making its way to Telmac headquarters.

This ensured that none of them would be late for being caught up in the evening rush themselves. Shifts changed, and the day crew all headed out to their cars, various parting sentiments heard as they each climbed into their cars. One of the day workers was a little late coming out of the building, most unfortunate for him, as he lived several miles out of town, and getting out of the city before the evening rush started was crucial to him making his way home at any kind of decent hour.

Running out to his car, a grey hybrid, he quickly started the car and sped out of the parking lot. Though his efforts were valiant, he just couldn’t get out of the city before the evening rush broke out. Caught at intersection after intersection, he desperately tried to exit the city as fast as he could, but it was to no avail. Every traffic light proved a several minute endeavor, and the day grew later and later. Finally he made his way out of the busier parts of the city and into the areas less travelled. The cool of the evening beckoned him to open his window, and he gladly obliged. The man loved the feeling of the wind in his face.

Enticed by the night air, he couldn’t help but be compelled to drive around for a bit, regardless of how much later getting home he might be because of it. Staying within the furthest limits of the city, so as to avoid too many traffic lights, he became absolutely entranced with the city bathing in the evening sun; the way the buildings reflected the light, and how even the objects low to the ground cast long shadows.

Pulling up to a controlled intersection, the man couldn’t help but notice an object on the barrier, about the size and shape of a street mailbox, only slightly taller. There were two slots on the side of the box facing the man, one wider than the other, with some faded text beneath them. At first confused, the man pondered just what purpose this strange box served when it came to him.

The man looked closer to confirm his suspicions, and sure enough, some of the text beneath the slots were numbers. A price. “Huh, didn’t realize there were any of these left,” the man said to himself, “I thought they’d removed most of these things after they fell out of service. Odd. Very odd.”

He drove around a little more, but it soon became dark, and he tired of his little adventure, and so returned his drive home. By the time he reached his destination, the city was already becoming quiet.

A few stragglers that worked late were making their way home, such as the doctor who had survived another tough day in her hospital. And there were those that were just finishing their evening activities, like the lawyer bringing her daughter home after drama practice. And then just the few that enjoyed the night, the suspicious pedestrian among them.

Slowly but surely, the residents of the city return to their homes and their beds. The sparse car revs its way down a street, but the silence of night is quickly returned. Street lamps shine their light onto the streets below them, illuminating the few wanderers of the dark. Approaching an intersection, a man stops, an orange glowing “DO NOT WALK” greeting him from the other side of the street. Reaching into his pocket, the pedestrian produces a cell phone and begins dialing a number on it. After a brief conversation the street light changes, allowing the night walker passage across the intersection. He continues on his way and fades into the dark. The city is asleep.