Signalling Virtue in Alberta

I was lately in Alberta, Canada: a province that puts one faintly in mind of a flat, featureless version of the English midlands, one that lulls the mind towards a treacherous ease of familiarity, as those familiar would agree.

Then one drives—at the proper speed, and with due care and attention to municipal signboards that advise you about important road conditions, sports scores, and discount hotel rates.

One witnesses vehicles proceeding along the wrong side of the boulevard, as if either side made any difference—alley, highway, or restaurant drive-through alike. Turn indicators appear to be entirely optional.

The drivers, it seems, are distracted by the video reels upon their handheld, dashboard-mounted, entertainment devices, and the witnesses are not paying attention for much the same reason.

Pickup trucks enjoy great civic importance among the locals, claiming more road surface than most men would claim land.
Many of them have barbecue grills welded to the beds of these machines. I assume they are all engaged in the mobile food industry.

Native Albertans—those native to Alberta, though not necessarily Indigenous, not that it makes any difference to the local wildlife, who continue to stare down headlights rather than avoid them—prove reticent on most private matters, more so the public ones, and particularly on questions of swerving, merging, and any sudden revision of direction.

The wildlife are very familiar with this, and the Indiginous are still annoyed with my poorly-tasted land restitution humour.

There is no question that Albertans know how to signal: I have witnessed them gesture several times, and each time identically—after I completed a legal lane change. These simple Canadians were likely frightened by the blinking lights, which they usually associate with something unidentified in the sky.