June 16, 2008

• Once upon a time, I had too much coffee before embarking on my 40-mile commute home from school and ended up sitting in total agony when the diuretic effect of the caffeine kicked in 5 minutes into my drive. However, despite being stuck in rush hour traffic, despite being mocked by my evil bladder (“Who’s in danger? Urine danger!“), I refused detour off the freeway. The only toilet I was going to use was the one in my apartment…or the makeshift one I made out of a plastic binder I found in my car. Either way, I was not going to give in.
  
  Nor did I have to, for thanks to my Herculean willpower, I made it to my exit. And as soon as my car touched the surface street, I found myself bathed in a brilliant aura of green light–for all the stoplights before me were green! Every single one! Even those that had just turned red suddenly became green as I approached them. I was breezing along, getting closer and closer to my bathroom, my destiny, and nothing could stand in my way! Nothing! Relief was mine!
  
  …Until a douche-bucket kid decided to jaywalk slowly…slowly…urinary-tract-infection-cometh-slowly across the street, forcing all the cars to stop and wait.
  
  I was horrified…which quickly turned to pissed-the-f*ck-off when this ass turned to look at the cars and smiled. Oh yes, and not just any smile, but that typical, arrogant grin some pedestrians give when they realize the power they have over drivers. That power which allows them to carelessly walk in front of our moving vehicles without fear because they know we will step on our brakes to let them pass, even though it means we must sacrifice our right-of-way.
  
  And I went ape sh*t. Totally and completely ape sh*t. Here I was, just one stoplight away from my apartment, on the verge of a natural disaster, and this kid decides to cut me off? And with a crosswalk just a few feet away? He was so f*cked. Why? Because I was going to honk my horn at him!
  
  But as my hand loomed over the little trumpet in the middle of my steering wheel, I found myself hesitating. There was something about honking at a pedestrian that seemed so…taboo. Like stealing-a-homeless-guy’s-blanket-and-then-setting-his-cardboard-box-on-fire taboo. And I know I’m not the only person who feels this way. You see more drivers honking at people who held up traffic because they got into a car accident, than at jaywalkers who held up traffic because they’re inconsiderate.

  Sitting there, all poised and ready to body slam my horn, I tried to rationalize my reluctance to punish this kid. Whereas I could simply take my car whenever I wanted to go somewhere, he had to use his legs to get around. His legs! Meaning, he had to walk everywhere! And even if he wanted to take public transportation, he still had to walk to and from the bus stop! It must take him hours to get around, so he ignores crosswalks, traffic signals, and his general sense of safety to save himself travel time. Given the circumstances, perhaps I should cut this kid some slack. Clearly, it is less convenient for him to get around than it is for me, hence why he is resorting to meandering across busy streets and stopping traffic because the available crosswalk is 10 feet too far. Without a car, he is a disadvantaged member of society–doesn’t he deserve our sympathy?
  
  HELL NO! So you’re a pedestrian–big f*cking deal! Just because drivers have an easier time traveling does not make them indebted to pedestrians, i.e., you can’t walk wherever or whenever you please, and you certainly cannot jaywalk all slow and sh*t and keep me from going to the bathroom! After all, it’s not my fault you’re inconvenienced, so stop trying to “balance” things out by making it more difficult for me to get around. Go stand at the crosswalk and wait for the stick-figure to light up.
  
  I slammed my hand down onto the horn and left it there so that what came out was a nice, long honk that probably made this douche-bucket kid mad because he threw his hands up in that lame “wanna fight?” pose–which made no sense because I was in a car. What did he hope to do? Maybe kick my bumper before it mows him down? Cuss out my tires as I drive over his face? Seriously, I wanted to know–but unfortunately could not find out since satisfying my curiosity was just not worth the trouble of getting arrested, going to trial, shaming my family, etc. But trust me, if they served chili-cheese fries in prison, his ass would be hamburger meat.

  • 8:18 pm
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