Reminds me of an old joke:

My car was in the shop, so I asked for a ride to the grocery store from my neighbor. He agrees, no problem, and we’re off. The first time we come to a red light, he floors it and we dart through the intersection. There’s a cacophony of horns and squealing ties, but we’re unscathed.

I whip around to him, wide-eyed, and yell, “What the hell are you doing?! That was a red light!”

He smiles and says, “Don’t worry, I watch my brother do that all the time. No problem.”

I try to argue, but he keeps doubling down: “Never seen my brother get hit. Everyone just stays out of the way. It’s totally fine,” as we fly through one intersection after another, ignoring seemingly every red light in town.

Finally, mercifully, I see us pulling up to a green light. I reassure myself that we’re almost there, and I’ll be home soon.

But as we roll up to the green light, my neighbor slams hard on his brakes. The car behind us lays on their horn and skids to a sharp stop right behind us. I’m white as a ghost as I turn to my neighbor and demand to know why the hell we stopped at a green light.

“My brother could’ve been coming from the other way.”