The Angry Pedestrian

There are many ways having a child changes you, of course, and not all of them are expected. For example, before Henry I can't recall ever getting mad at a driver while walking about. I mean, yeah, sometimes drivers aren't paying attention and almost kill you and whatnot, but hey, we all make mistakes, and what's the point in getting all worked up about it?

But this week I'm walking down towards the Costco for the buck ninety-nine hot dog and soda, and little Henry is in the stroller, and this lady is coming out of the Costco parking lot. It exits onto a one-way street, so she's only looking to her left and even though she has a red she rides right on through the intersection. And if I weren't on my toes, she would have rode right on through the baby stroller. So I give her the universal palms up what are you doing gesture, and she sees me and looks suitably horrified/ashamed and mouths 'sorry' and I hold my gesture and she says 'sorry' again and then it's over. She's down the road.

And afterwards, I'm actually feeling kinda bad. Cause truthfully I probably would have had to accelerate a bit for her to have had a chance at killing Henry (that's not really the point, she should have been paying attention, but it does seem at least vaguely relevant). And moreso cause she said 'sorry', she obviously felt bad, I wish I would have released the gesture and mouthed some sort of peace-making 'okay'.

But I didn't learn my lesson, cause just yesterday I'm walking up Hornby just past the art gallery and there's some construction and the intersection is a mess. And when we get the 'walk' sign we all start through the cross walk and this guy who obviously had waited the entire light without being able to get through races in front of us. Again, not exactly a near-death experience, but still I felt like Henry was being disrespected. Like, really, you're in such a hurry you're willing to kill a baby to get through this intersection? So I give the palms up again and I even mouth 'what the eff', and he refuses to look at me (I know he knows I'm there), and he has been slowed down by the intersectional mess so he's crawling by but still refuses to look as I give a second 'what the eff'.

So I kick his rear tire. He looks at me in his side mirror, and I see true fear in his eyes, and he drives off. And I realize, not for the first time and I'm certain not for the last, that being a dad makes you crazy. And if you're not careful, maybe a little mean.

I mean, kicking people's cars? What the eff, indeed.