Pedestrians are in charge in New York city.  If you have the walk signal, you can cross.  If you have the blinking "walk, but not for long" signal, you can cross. If you have the don't walk signal, you can cross.  Sidewalks are only a suggestion, as those on foot can jet in and out of the street whenever their hearts desire.  I was a master of pounding the pavement in the concrete jungle, so I figured that when I was in Chicago for the summer I would reign supreme over pedestrian walkways and roadways alike.

Well...

Apparently my reckless devil-may-care strutting isn't welcome in the Windy City.  At first I didn't even notice that Chicagoans found my behavior unwelcome.  When I crossed against a light en route to my first day of work, I didn't think twice about being the lone crosser.  Even though there was a gaggle of midwesterners standing stationary on the street corner looking at me with furrowed brows, I figured that had they not been drinking in the sight of my gazelle-like steps they would've been damning the man and crossing against the light with me.  Later, when I was approaching a walk signal that had just started blinking red, I noticed the woman in front of me that had just seemed so willing to cross, suddenly tense up and halt at the sidewalk's curb, trembling in fear of the blinking hand.  As she stood frozen in her own inhibitions, I looked at the blinking signal.  Then I looked at the timer that was next to it. (Yes, Chicago walk signals come equipped with a timer to let you know just how long your window to walk is.) The woman still had 18 seconds left to cross.  18 seconds to cross a minor intersection.  Not a 6th Avenue "Oh my God, there are 5 lanes of traffic and I can't even be sure these cars will stop!" intersection, but a "Oh my God, I think the hallway in my apartment is longer and busier than this!" intersection.  I couldn't believe it.  I let the timer count down to 10 seconds, and then I made my move.  I looked the woman square in the eye and made my way across the intersection.  She shook her head as if I had just ordered my own death sentence, and stood paralyzed on the curb, unable to do anything to break my renegade stride.   When I reached the other side I met her gaze once more, and then gestured towards the timer which still had 3 seconds on it.  She showed no sign of being ashamed of her stationary reaction, and as I looked around, I noticed other pedestrians looking at me with equal amounts of concern and disdain.  These Second Citizens were rule-abiders.  They didn't appreciate my shenanigans, and they weren't impressed by my irresponsible street crossing.  So until I return to New York in August, I'll join them on the edges of sidewalks, waiting for walk signals, and avoiding their judgmental stares. 

 

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