PED XING

PED XING

There's no stoplight at the intersection near my house. If I counted all the minutes I've spent standing on the corner there, waiting for a break in the traffic so I could cross, I'm sure it would depress me profoundly. Or maybe it would make me insanely angry, crazy enough to run into the street, playing chicken with the cars like some demented matador.

It's a feeling of total futility as I stand there, watching 20 or 30 cars swish by. I often have an existential moment. I feel like a trivial blob of protoplasm, aware of the world's indifference and my own impatience and anxiety. Should I make a run for it? To be or not to be?

Occasionally, the drivers take pity. They slow to a crawl and flash their lights, or make odd hand gestures--usually an impatient swatting motion, as if I was an insect buzzing along the windshield. I'm obviously supposed to be grateful, so I smile and wave as I trot across, feeling like the town nuisance, he who must be indulged.

Sometimes I wish there were crossing guards for adults.