I’ve been driving down Kagy Boulevard every morning at 8:15 a.m. for twenty-one years. It’s a reliable rhythm, much like the changing of the seasons or the inevitable price hike on a carton of eggs at the Co-op. Recently, however, a new phenomenon has emerged that threatens the very fabric of our morning commute: the phantom yield.

It seems that drivers in our valley have decided that a stop sign is merely a suggestion, while a perfectly clear intersection has become a place for deep, existential reflection. I watched a silver SUV sit at the intersection of 19th and Kagy for what felt like three minutes yesterday. The coast was clear all the way to the mountains, yet they sat there, staring at the horizon, waiting for a permission slip from the universe that never came.

“I just didn’t want to be the one to initiate the momentum,” said local resident Gary Pringle, when I caught up with him at the gas station later that day. “It feels a bit aggressive to be the first one to turn. I prefer to wait until someone behind me honks, then we can all decide to move together as a community.”

This is, frankly, a logistical catastrophe. If everyone waits for someone else to be the first to move, nobody moves at all. We are building a city where nobody wants to lead the way into the turn lane, and as a result, the traffic now backs up past the high school before the sun has even crested the Bridgers.

We are Montanans. We are supposed to be decisive, sturdy people. If you see an opening, you take it. If you see a gap in traffic, you fill it. Otherwise, we’re just sitting in our idling trucks, staring at the empty road, waiting for someone to tell us it’s okay to go.

Dale Crankshaft has been driving the same route to work since 2003 and considers any alteration a personal attack. He is retired but still drives the route.