Driver’s rules for pedestrians
A few weeks ago, our thinning metropolitan daily ran a piece that struck me as simultaneously remarkable, hilarious, and semi-alarming. It ran a story about the number of pedestrians that became human roadkill in January, an especially bad month this year. Next to the article, a sidebar with tips on how to properly cross the street. TIPS ON HOW TO CROSS THE STREET? In a section of the paper that wasn’t The Kiddie Page? That’s awesome. I don’t want to say this struck me as further proof that we may be dumbing down just a tad in this country or any sweeping generalization of that type, but then again …
I’d love to think it was a joke, and I didn’t get it, but …
That got me thinking as to why more folks than usual seem to be getting bumped off around here, literally. More often than not, it’s my theory that pedestrians are askin’ for it. Now that may get a red flag from the PC cops, but I wanna put it out there. Specifically, when a pedestrian begins to journey across the street in an officially designated crosswalk zone, and begins to do so with the very trusting mindset of expecting oncoming traffic to stop and yield to him because that’s the law, well, that pedestrian is setting himself up for a world of hurt. And maybe a toe tag to boot.
Why? Because that pedestrian is assuming that I’m toodling along, looking at the road, paying attention, and driving properly. Wrong! Generally speaking, I’m not engaged in anything of the sort. What am I doing? More often than not, I’m driving like a dangerous jagoff, like just about everybody else out on the road. I’m fiddling with the CD/iPod. I’m fussing with my hair. I’m putting hot sauce on my taco. I’m trimming my nose hair. I’m daydreaming about sex or food or something else that’s going to bring temporary relief from this world of endless pain. I’m texting. Or on the phone. In other words, I’m trying to multitask, which automatically means I’m driving like a guy who’s drained four highballs. In other words, I’m doing everything but looking at the road and seeing your naive, presumptuous ass jump out there in front of me.
I’m all for respecting pedestrians and not injuring, mangling, or killing them. Totally. I mean, all those police reports. What a hassle. But maybe pedestrians would be wise, in this day and age, to make sure I’ve actually seen them and am actually slowing down and actually stopping before they bolt out into the street under the assumption that everything is hunky-dory, and it’s all good to walk on out there as if they’re protected by some Pedestrian Mantle of Power. That P.M.O.P. is good for one thing—getting yo’ ass strapped into a paramedic’s gurney.
