At the intersection of Dupont and Lake, I push the walk button and patiently wait. Others come and we all wait, staring intently at the sign, willing it to change from the bossy red hand to the jaunty white walker indicating we are free to continue to our destination.
Another lady joins us, walks in front of the crowd and pushes the button while stepping on the tip of my exposed big toe with her thick walking shoes. I look down at her and without taking the slightest beat to let any filter be deployed say, “Soooo, I’m a moron who can’t push a button?”
She continued pushing the button as if she was a young child discovering the joys of pushing buttons for the first time with no parent around to scold them. Again and again. Over and over. “If you push it like this the light changes faster,” she proudly shares. My eyes rolled so hard I sprained the left one.
A few seconds later, as if electronically timed, the light changed. She looked up at me beaming with the joy reserved for those who can make the world bend to their wishes via excessive poking. In trying not to roll my eyes again, I sprained the right one.
“OMG! You were right,” I said in that tone I get where you need to know me well to tell if it is sarcasm or not. She skipped into the street, turning slightly suggesting, “Try it some time. It works.” I muttered, “If I do, someone punch me,” and the dude next to me let out a single, loud “HA” as we exchanged a knowing glance indicating walk sign comprehension and idiot detection.
As I continued my walk, I wondered how many more years I have before I am no longer allowed to interact with the public.
sugar TANTRUM 