Reading along in Renegade's Pride: A Cahill Ranch Novel by B. J. Daniels, I hit just such an idea on page 87. Two workers in a hair dressing shop suddenly find themselves alone unexpectedly, their appointments late/no show.
"Mine's late, too," Daisy said. "Maybe there's a traffic jam." They both chuckled at that, since they didn't even have one stoplight in town and most people felt stop signs were just suggestions.
Nailed it. When I see a car going south at the same time as one going north, or one about to turn out onto the road as I pass, (even if it is a tractor), I am fond of saying/thinking "traffic jam". Seeing/being part of a threesome = rush hour.
I've also noted a potentially unhealthy tendency to pull out to the mail box, expecting oncoming traffic to be able to swing wide if my vehicle doesn't quite fit before the paving begins.