Sidewalk rage: A New Yorker's story

Today’s Annoyance: People who walk down the street with their mouths open.

Mantra of the Day: I’m not your bitch; don’t lay your shit on me. - Madonna

I have to say that on most days I consider myself a very nice and normal person, but there is still that part of me that is neurotic. Like most New Yorkers, I love the way that they city breathes, the way that it is always alive and never sleeps, but also like most New Yorkers, I get easily annoyed when outsiders come and try to mess things up. If there is one thing that New York has, it’s lots of outsiders to mess things up, and that might be where that whole reputation for having an attitude comes into play.

For example, if I am walking down the street; just like the road, people should walk on the right hand side. It is after all, the American way. (I did not, by the way, make the rules.) You should also refrain from touching other people that you do not know, and if you are the type who likes to get their thrills from the little things in life such as this, do so at your own risk. At the very least, try to provide your fellow pedestrians with two feet of personal space.

Then, why is it that people choose not to obey these rules? It is so simple, no? Instead, you’ve got people deciding to take the proverbial law into their own hands and walk on the left side of the sidewalk. Okay, one offense, fine. But don’t try to bring your group of five friends walking in a horizontal phalanx into your mini revolution with you. No, fuck that. You need to break up the mob or at least form a single file line to let others pass by. You do not own the city nor did you rent it. I don’t even think that you could afford to buy a single paving stone to walk on.

There are also those women (and some men!) who have lost all self control in the Giuseppe Zanotti store and have more bags in their hands than any sane person should carry at once. They are usually in a panic to get home and reexamine their booty (the one they bought, not the one gained by eating frosting home alone on a Saturday night). Naturally, they’re preoccupied with a phone call in which they’re telling their bffs about their loot. Along the way, they bump into nearly everyone within a few yards with all of their bags. No “excuse me”, no “oops, I’m sorry”. In fact, if you give them attitude, they look at you as though you’re in violation for trying to share the sidewalk with them and their glorious shopping bags.

Then there is the matter of trying to chase a cab in high heels. You’re crossing the street, ready for a showdown with your heels and the cabbie. He is anxiously creeping forward, while you, outwardly confident and striding across the street, think to yourself, ‘I can make it, I can make it before the light changes’, but you know that you really can’t. So you pretend to run, in a fake run/jog. (Right, like that is going to make things better.) You know better than that, but you try it anyway. Will we ever learn?