Blogatron

I'm here, but for how much longer?

I would just like to say, before it's too late, that I love you all and think highly of you. I want to get this off my chest because it is almost certain that I will be involved in a traffic fatality of some sort in the near future.

One would think that, having had all my circuits and programs reconfigured to cope with life as a pedestrian in the mean streets of New York City, I would be ably prepared to face the relatively genteel traffic patterns of such a place as Brookline. One would be horribly mistaken. Here are some of the ways in which I might meet my end...

During a game of Inadvertent Crosswalk Chicken
Here's how it happens: I come to a crosswalk. As is my habit, I stride out into the street four feet or so to await an opportunity to cross. In New York, this has a two-pronged effect: a) it puts you in a better tactical position for darting across the street when opportunity strikes, and b) it shows those damn cars that you're not afraid of them, because if they smell fear you're done for.

In Boston, where there is this thing about pedestrians having the right to cross the street without emulating Frogger, the results are somewhat different. I arrive. I stride. Cars on both sides of the street screech to a halt. I freeze in terror, crouching defensively and peering into the front windows for signs of ill intent or ex-members of the Street Crime Unit.* The drivers of the cars look at me, wondering to themselves what the hell is wrong with that girl. They wait. I wait. They give up on waiting for my indecisive ass, and go. I simultaneously realize that, oh yeah, the stopping for pedestrians thing, and also go. They screech. I crouch. They glare. I scuttle sheepishly onward. It's only a matter of time before I encounter someone with a heavy foot or slow reflexes, and I'm toast.

In a brawl with an uppity cyclist
Someone has to stand up to these people, and if I have to sacrifice myself to the cause, so be it. Never have I encountered a group of people more convinced of their right to be wherever the hell they want to be at all times. Um, pardon me, ma'am, but the sidewalk? That's for WALKING on. Oh, don't mind those tire tracks across my toes; I'm sure you'll be more careful next time because OTHERWISE YOU'LL BE SORRY BECAUSE I'M GOING TO START CARRYING A SAWED-OFF PIPE AROUND WITH ME! Yeah, that's right, I'm talking to you, Mr. God Forbid I Look Before I Turn Left Into a Pedestrian Walkway!

Plain old cockiness
When I do happen to remember about the cars stopping for me thing, it only gets worse. See, I just left a city where cars and pedestrians are pitched in a constant life-or-death struggle to get around. The slightest hesitation or lack of bravado is seen as a lethal sign of weakness. So now that I have the advantage of a law saying that drivers must bow to my will, I cackle evilly, a maniacal glow comes into my eyes, and I barrel right out into the streets with all the "whachewwannadoabboudit?" attitude I can muster. Unfortunately, some Boston drivers are not into this whole thing. They want, like, respect. They want to not have to stop for my every whim. They disapprove of the taunting way in which I stroll across the street in front of them. My looks of scorn and derision rub them the wrong way. One day, I will push them too far, and I will be sorry.

Due to my ongoing refusal to take any shit from The Man
There's a flip side to the rigorous way in which crosswalk etiquette is enforced. You know those walk light things? Where a little man tells you if it's okay to walk or not? Here, they actually expect you to pay attention to those. Yeah, I couldn't believe it either. Drivers see a green light and they just assume they can go, without looking to see if someone's taking an opportunity to cross the path of left-turning traffic real quick. So when I come to an intersection and the light is against me, I am actually supposed to STAND there and WAIT for the light to change, like a sucker, like a--like a tourist. The indignity! Well, forget that, man. My instincts are keen. My will is strong. And I do not care for the advice of the little orange man.

So, as you can see, I am, like so many great thinkers before me, doomed by the strength of my own principles. It's been nice knowing all of you.

Temporarily yours,
Hilatron

*A branch of the NYPD which has somewhat misapprehended its function: the goal is to reduce street crime, guys, not to improve upon techniques for getting away with it. Just so you know. Back

Posted by hilatron at August 26, 2002 09:00 PM