Swishy, the driver of that Chev would be getting boulder and boulder.
In the good old days (about 15 to 40 years ago) that flashing green light in the BMW meant that the car was going to turn left no matter what the driver wanted. These days, they only come on when you play with that little leaver on the steering column.
When I got my driver's licence on my sixteenth birthday my car, a 1948 Vauxhall, had trafficators (those little arms that came out and lit up to indicate a turn) but my driver's questions required me to describe hand signals for left and right turns and a stop. Years later I got my heavy combination licence and there were no questions about turning indicators.
The day before yesterday, I entered a roundabout in town and a middle aged lady approached from my left indicating a right turn. Even though I had right-of-way, she entered the roundabout and turned left. She continued for a block and then turned right into the carpark of a pokie venue.
I have my shoulder to the wheel,
my nose to the grindstone,
I've put my best foot forward,
I've put my back into it,
I'm gritting my teeth,
Morris you just reminded me off my first car, a 1949 Austin A40. Within a week I had perfected the foot behind the gear lever in third gear technique to stop it spitting it out of gear when accelerating. But more importantly, were the limp wristed trafficators. My brother conveniently "borrowed" my parents car the day I went for my driving test, eventuating in the A40 having to be used instead. All through the test I indicated when needed, casually leaning across behind the police officer testing me, so I could thump the door pillar so the trafficator would at least show more than just the chrome top piece! Dixon of Dock Green's only comment was, "That seems to do the trick nicely" as the arm audibly reached the top of its stroke with a muted thud. Memories.
PDU, my Dad went for his licence in the mother country between the end of the war and 1950. He used a borrowed Fordson E83. As the old van was not fitted with a passenger seat, a five gallon drum was provided for the testing officer's comfort.
Whether it was Dad's rudimentary clutch control or the poor state of post war vehicles, is debatable, but during the hill start manoeuvre the testing fellow ended up on his arse, against the back doors of the van. Miraculously, he passed.