It's spring and I have my finger-wagging pants on! One question for people who live in the vicinity of cars and the question is, WHAT ARE YOU DOING? Maybe I'm getting conservative in my moderately advanced dog years. I confess that on a stroll in Mount Vernon last spring, I espied a man's bare ankles and immediately took ill. The recovery process was arduous, requiring many bold soups and sets of lace curtains for peeking out of. I may not entirely be myself. If you have a car and you use it, could you please for the love of everything on the face of the earth pay attention to what you are doing? If you are a person anywhere near a car, could you also please pay attention because WHAT ARE YOU ALL DOING?
Cars are just okay. They act like they are a super big deal, but they are not. And I am not afraid to tell cars how I feel. I will get up in some bumper and let fly with colorful language about how Cars Need To Simmer Down Already. They come in all sorts of different shapes and sizes and levels of usefulness, and they act like they rule the road. There are even electric ones that don't make any sound, which is extremely unnerving. A Prius could sneak right up on you and you'd never know it. This is an unfair advantage since cars are already larger and heavier than human beings. There's probably a hybrid wagon lurking in the corner right now, watching you read this. If you sense the unseeing eyes of the 2016 model's Enhanced Parking Support feature probing you in judgement, confuse and annoy the offending Prius by throwing some unwrapped hard candies in its direction. You haven't lived until you've heard the sound of lint-covered Starlight Mints bouncing off the hood of a self-satisfied subcompact.
The problem is that cars keep crashing into stuff, and they show no signs of stopping. In February I saw a PT Cruiser drive into the side of a building! Right onto the curb and up against that fake brick like nobody's business. A week after that, some jagweed plowed into my neighbors' cars while they were parked. Pedestrians are not exempt, either. A police report about a hit-and-run that occurred at 33rd and Alameda cited "pedestrian error," which seems like a chilly term for jaywalking in a neighborhood where the crosswalks are few and far between. In Charles Village, where pedestrian safety concerns have spurred major reconstruction, I regularly witness people eyes-deep in their phones, stepping off the curb willy-nilly. Whether or not you've been on your phone at the time, you've probably wandered distractedly into the middle of the road at least twice today.
In case you were wondering, yes, I did put on an ill-fitting and itchy sweater to write this and, yes, I am shaking my fists at the sky whilst smelling strongly of something mentholated. I'm not standing up straight. My hair is sticky from some food item that I ate but cannot identify, and I have a fresh bag of Starlight Mints on my kitchen table. Later I am going to go downstairs in my scuffies, unwrap a Starlight Mint and put it in the pocket of one of my many baggy coats. I will forget which coat contains the mint, because I will only be concerned with what is happening in my immediate environment. And what is happening in my immediate environment is that everyone is driving like animals and walking around like idiots. Dogs in insurance commercials drive better than you guys, and they are fictional characters who only appear to be driving.