I'm officially psychic.

Pulling up behind an older Ford Festiva, post-factory colored a dull shade of turquoise and manned by an older woman, post-youth colored a dull shade of grey, I had a premonition that I would not be making this left any time soon. It's my chief complaint about negotiating the streets of Los Angeles: there are almost no left turn signals, so left-faring drivers are forced to wait until that precarious time between yellow and red to dart out into the intersection and on to the rest of their lives. But this morning, as I pulled up behind the aforementioned Ford Festiva, I knew that my progress into the future would not be so unfettered. At one point, during the stretch of green light, I tapped my horn to alert the driver to the fact that she could go. She didn't move. When the light turned to yellow, and the advancing cars were far enough away that she could easily have made the turn, she still didn't move. I tapped my horn again. She turned around and mouthed the words, "You're stupid." I was charmed. The next time the light changed to yellow, she advanced out into the intersection enough to block the crossflow of traffic but did not actually make her turn. When oncoming traffic voiced its displeasure, she began backing up towards my car, making eye contact with me, but foregoing the mouthing of insults this time around. I was beginning to feel a familiar sense of helpless amusement. The next time the light turned green, she pulled out into oncoming traffic and merged into the lane of drivers going straight, provoking a handful of horn honks as she went. As I made my turn -- effortlessly -- I saw her up ahead making a four- or five-pointed U-turn to come back down towards the intersection and make her turn after all. And all of this I knew before it came to pass. It's a wonder that law enforcement and government agencies aren't knocking at my door. My powers of clairvoyance are mighty.