Impervious

I had a moment of pedestrian rage last night, as I took my evening constitutional up Columbus Avenue. As I approached 78th Street, walk sign on my side, a white SUV pulled into the crosswalk, barely slowing down. I did what I usually do when a driver doesn't seem to be paying attention -- I stuck my hand up in a STOP motion. I always feel like I'm the one doing something wrong, I'm all uptight, man, when I point out that a driver is doing something illegal, dangerous, and, I might add, anti-social.

And sure enough, when I got to the other side of the street, the driver stuck his head out the window to say, "you're welcome." Yeah, thanks for the favor, bub. I turned and said, sort of nicely, "there's no right turn on red in New York City."

"Really," he replied, as he stepped on the gas, and proceeded to make the turn anyway.

What I really should have said, was "go back to the suburbs, little man, you and your little wife, where you can be surrounded by other people who arrogantly think they are entitled to consume as much gas as is necessary for them to feel really, really, safe when they drive into the city and are threatened by women who dare to question their automotive supremacy. Yes, I know you could have run me over, and where's a traffic cop when you need one, but I will continue to feel morally superior to you, and also, you're probably short and bad in bed."