Ever walk past a pelican crossing (crosswalk to you Colonists) and press the button even though you weren't even going to cross? Seems like a bit of a dick move, doesn't it? Holding up the traffic; people in cars just trying to get from A to B.
How about intending to cross, pressing the button, but seeing an opening and taking it like the badass you are, leaving the drivers to your sloppy seconds of a road? No?
I love doing that.
To be more specific I love the second one. I dabbled in the former when I was in my infancy; when alcohol and readily available porn was but a dream; but thought that kind of asshole behaviour was tempting the universe into taking it's cosmic boot to my man jewels. So instead I live dangerously by seizing the opportunity a lull in traffic presents. I like to keep my walks smoothly flowing like warm butter down a hooker's back. You know, no pauses, no delays, nice and slick like a hooker's back that's covered in melted butter. It's not the only reason though, oh no, one of the real kicks I get out of it is messing with traffic and drivers.
Few things give you control over other people's lives outside of being a reality TV host or a drug dealer, but being a pedestrian at a crossing really hits the spot. That minute or two of complete standstill may have just prevented a poor animal from becoming an asphalt pancake; or a nasty rear ending (huh huh); or some poor child being hit by a 4-wheeled beast as he chased after a stray ball. Yes, you may have just saved lives because you're that much of a hero. Flick your cape out, strike a pose, and marvel at your sheer superiority to the common man.
Of course the opposite is entirely true. That delay may result in the drivers putting the pedal to the metal because some dick was too impatient or just wanted to be a complete shit-monkey. In turn causing that animal to taste rubber; that bumper getting crushed; that chav to make it across the road with nary a broken femur. All this because you're the villain of the picture, twirling your waxed moustache, standing atop your victims like a grim memorial, cackling, cackling like a maniac! MWAHAHAHAH!
...ahem.
There's no way of knowing that these things can or may happen, if there were then I would have won the lottery years ago and be bathing in Coco Pops right about now.
Controlling the drivers is done, on my part at least, not to help or hinder people down the line, but because when I'm walking I don't really like drivers. I don't know why, maybe it's because I don't drive and remain a pedestrian. Maybe it irks me that if I'm late I have to exhaust myself to get where I'm going instead of just putting my foot down a bit more. Whatever the reason, my penchant for holding up traffic is ever so gratifying. Admittedly I can play the benevolent deity to drivers, often giving a friendly gesture to allow them to pass in front of me or pull out of a junction I intended to cross. This fluctuating mood keeps the rubber footed metal beasts sharp, always paying attention on the dark roads they travel lest another wanderer like myself should cross their path.
I don't hate drivers. How could I when I must rely upon them so much in this day and age? But I certainly don't care for the ones I don't know when I'm prowling the urban jungle in need of sweet nutrients (takeaway) or a companion (fresh tissue paper).
So take note wheel-people of the world!
There are many others like me out there.
And your precious time is but a button press away for us.
