Bad Habits, Blah Blah Blah

Thanks to Hilly for naming me her Blogger of the Month! If you've wandered over from her place, thanks for visiting. After reading her post I can safely say that she set your expectations way too high, but I'll let you be the judge....

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I didn't bring many things back with me when I returned from New York. I guess my slightly disturbing obsession with giant slices of pizza could be considered a token memento. You could probably count my raw hatred for mice as another small take away. I've recently discovered though that one Manhattan habit has stuck with me rather forcefully and that would a blatant and unapologetic disrespect as well as disregard for rules designed around telling pedestrians when/where they can and can't walk.

If you've ever been to New York it's not hard to figure out that cross walk signals are really just there so that pigeons have something to shit on. Any New Yorker worth their salt won't hesitate to cross a 5 lane street anywhere along the block as long as they've got at least 15 seconds before oncoming traffic gets to them. It's impressive really to watch people of all sizes brazenly defy crazed taxis and decrepit delivery trucks.

Unfortunately these cojones aren't shared by Seattlites. I can't tell you the number of times I've seen crowds of people waiting at a crosswalk in front of a vacant street, held in place by that damned orange hand. I always seem to hear what sounds like soft bleating in those moments and have the unshakable urge to prod at these masses with a shepherd's crook.

I, on the other hand, take no greater joy than emerging from these lemming conventions and then looking over my shoulder as I'm jaywalking through the crosswalk with an expression on my face that says "That's right motherfucka's...I just walked across the damn street!" It really is priceless.

However yesterday someone had to spoil my fun. As I defiantly crossed a 3 lane street, hundreds of feet from the nearest cross walk, a "Parking Enforcement Officer" on a bike cruised slowly past me and yelled loud enough for all eight other pedestrians to hear...

"Careful as you jaywalk across the street, sir!"

The condescension and mockery in her tone were unmistakable to me as someone who A.) went to Middle School, and B.) is an avid watcher of House. Even more infuriating though was the implication that I was in mortal danger for walking across a street void of cars in both directions for 500+ feet. It was like a first grade teacher telling a Ph. D. student to be "careful coloring outside the lines..." Okay, that comparison got a little convoluted, but you get the picture.

I seriously wish I could have come back with something like "Duly noted, officer I-ride-a-bike-and-fail-at-life-continuously," but instead, like the tater tot that rolls off the pan and under the oven, the moment flicked by too quickly and was gone. I do remember thinking immediately afterwards though "wow, didn't realize passive aggressive snarking was now a mandatory prerequisite in the Parking Enforcement school."

I remain undeterred though. I shall flout city law until I get where I am going or am struck down by that sneaky DHL truck that forever looms in the nightmares of the pedestrian masses. Either that or I get a ticket from a bike cop. I wonder if that counts as a moving violation?