But, really, everyone's a commuter when you "grow up". No one lives at work.
This morning wasn't necessarily a rough morning. I did manage to gouge a little piece out of my hand with my opposite thumbnail, which has drawn a little sprinkle-sized pool of blood and hurts a lot. Probably because public transit is dirty and because fingernails are dirty. It's like the Daily Double. I should wash it out pretty carefully, I guess.
When I exited the T station, I headed to the left, as always, to take myself to work. One of the minor streets that branches off of Main is plain, unmarked, no stop sign or light or crosswalk. This is almost never a problem, because there is almost never anyone trying to turn onto this street.
Not so this morning!
A woman in a black sedan was crawling up, signal winking, and I couldn't quite figure out what to do, having used up all of my aggression in exiting the train car to begin with (there is an unreasonable amount of pushing, some mornings). I wasn't far enough away to conclusively stop, and I wasn't close enough to enter the road without being the kind of pedestrian that (if we're honest) I sometimes dream of being.
Lawlessness.
So I was watching the woman in the sedan very closely for any kind of indication. If she waved me forward, I would cross. If not, I'd wait. Unfortunately for me, she had one hand on the wheel and one hand on the phone she was talking on, so she couldn't make any gestures.
She slowed to a stop. I started to enter. She jerked forward. I stopped. She stopped. And so on and so forth. If she called me names (I couldn't hear her), I'm rubber and she's glue, etc etc. Don't care. You have to be the duck and let it roll off in these situations.
When she finally cleared the intersection, painfully slowly and probably giving me a death glare the whole time (DON'T CARE, GET OFF YOUR PHONE), I also cleared it, feeling like an amateur. Then I heard a voice from behind me, low and that deadpan monotone.
"Never trust that any drivers around here know what they're doing."
"Yeah. Yeah, I see that," I replied, turning to see the man with small round glasses.
"There's a reason they're called Massholes."
I laughed.
"You new here?"
This didn't help with my feeling like an amateur, but he meant well. Just wanted to make a connection by complaining about drivers in the city.
"No," I said, "I've been here a while, I just..." I shrugged. "This morning, you know? I used to have a car for the first few months I was here, but actually, getting rid of it was the best thing that's happened to me."
He looked at me. "If I had to drive to work every day, I'd slit my wrists." No smile, just the same deadpan monotone. Then he turned off to enter a building and wished me a nice day.
What a world, eh, Boston?
This is a fantastic story.
ReplyDeleteThank you for sharing a piece of your world, and also for not getting run over by a Massachusetts driver.
By the way, I loved your research on nasturtium and watercress and the connection (in your comment on my blog), which is strange and almost funny.
BTW -- the pedestrian is always right. Once the driver sees you, you can just go. The purpose of eye contact, in the Northeast, is to confirm that you have been seen; after that, you plunge ahead, not checking back, exuding the expression, "You have seen me, and you are the one who is liable." At that point, she won't hit you because she actually has an idea how very much that would cost her. And good job letting it roll off. You could be aggressively mad right back at her, but that's neither Christian nor good for your blood pressure.