The Unbearable Smugness of Pedestrians

Living in Los Angeles, I have to drive everywhere.  When I’m in a rush, or stuck in traffic, only one thing is worse than getting caught at a red light.  That nightmare is the dreaded “smug pedestrian”.  Why do they get to have such power over me?  I’m in a 1200-pound car, albeit a Mazda, and yet I must bend to the will of a single person, stopping so they can take their sweet time to cross the street. Apparently being on foot gives you abilities like Neo from the Matrix …

I know, I know.  The rules of the road are for everyone’s safety.  Look, I don’t want to run anyone over.  And I wouldn’t have such a problem with it if those pedestrians didn’t assume that the right of way gave them the right to be a dick.  You know what I’m talking about… It’s that look they give you.  The one that says, “That’s right.  I’m a pedestrian.  You have to stop for me.”

They give you that look and then they stroll past you, taking their sweet time,  like they are the goddamn Mayor of the Intersection.

And god forbid you stop a little short, or the front end of your car extends into the crosswalk by an inch or two.  Then you get that look like, “How DARE you?  Who do you think you are?  You’re a MONSTER!”  Such righteousness!  Jesus!  You aren’t pushing a legless orphan in a wheel chair.  You’re carrying a bag from Ann Taylor.

Get over yourself.

This behavior needs to be stopped!  Unless of course I’m the pedestrian.  Then you better stop for me, you jerk.  Don’t you see these feet?  I’m better than you…


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