Cursed Tongue: Don’t Cross Me

Posted by CursedTongue on May 2, 2006

When my family moved to Germany, courtesy of the U.S. Air Force, our sponsor fed us open-faced cheese sandwiches in a little pub along with valuable information on the local culture. One was the fact that crosswalks are taken seriously in Germany. Pedestrians have right-of-way and motorists are expected to stop. No, for real.

In most of the U.S., I wonder why they even bother printing that regulation in the Rules of the Road Handbook. But in Germany the drivers actually stop for pedestrians.

Even in neighborhoods where people usually stop for pedestrians, for some reason rain makes drivers splash callously past. On one particular day, I was waiting at the crosswalk brazenly marked by a lit sign with the German guy in a hat, as a car sped by. I remember the driver, a furious, hunched-over man, apparently put out by my impudence for not being behind the wheel of another vehicle. His wife’s face in the rain dappled passenger window mouthing the words, “I’m so sorry.”

I remember another rainy day when I lived in the Mojave Desert, when the skies turned black and opened up in a steady downpour more freakish then Joan Rivers. I was walking home from school as always. There was a lot of traffic that day because all of the parents who loved their children went to pick them up.

Already soaked to the bone and shivering, I waited a good 15 minutes at a one intersection before one kind soul stopped and other cars were shamed into following suit. Are drivers who scurry home in the rain like frightened rabbits, worried about getting wet in their warm, dry automobiles, or am I missing something?

When I lived in Chicago, I quickly found out that any pedestrian crossing the street was not to be tolerated, inclement weather or no. Standing on the street corner as cars passed, I had a lot of time to observe the natives, who brashly waded out into sluggish city traffic without regard to crosswalks. I also learned that only the bravest of souls would cross in front of taxis. I’d actually seen taxis jump the curb and try to mow down pedestrians who looked like they were thinking about crossing the street.

When I moved out to the Chicago suburbs I witnessed people wading out into the more fluid traffic of sprawling four-lane commercial areas, in much the same way Chicagoans had done in the city. Seeing as nearly everyone drove at least 15 mph over the speed limit, this behavior seemed phenomenally stupid.

I also witnessed the furrowed brows of drivers who put the petal to the metal, as they shouted the word “Vendetta!” when they spotted pedestrians. It often seemed that if the cars had maintained speed the pedestrians probably would not have interfered with traffic. It was a road rage sport with such wide appeal that I often wondered that Auto Zone didn’t carry cowcatchers.

When I noticed that my husband’s height and large frame seemed to part traffic like Moses, I postulated that different pedestrians were worth different amounts of points. Women, children and the elderly must be worth more than burly men. As if Grand Theft Auto is merely a case of art imitating life. Of course, my husband says that drivers just don’t want to have to wipe him off their bumpers. I probably wouldn’t even put a dent in a bumper.

Incomprehensibly, some mothers think they have an enchanted force field of protection against vengeful drivers. There’s a commercial for a pregnancy test kit where a female narrator says, “I can’t concentrate,” dramatic pause, “Could I be pregnant?” As if motherhood sucks your brains into your placenta for the fetus to feed on. For me it’s a real fear, because I often see perfectly normal looking women audaciously saunter across the street pushing a stroller out in front of them. I believe the brain-eating baby is the only explanation for this astonishingly reckless behavior.

Here in the Phoenix area I haven’t had too much opportunity to be a pedestrian. But the times I have crossed the street, it hasn’t seemed to me that most of the cars are out for a taste of human blood. And I even hear tell of a magical land called Oregon, where drivers who don’t brake for pedestrians are ticketed. Which gives me some hope for the future of pedestrians in America.

However, in a fight between an ambulatory meat puppet and four tons of steel on wheels, the four tons of steel wins. It’s no wonder that pedestrians in the U.S. have rolled over faster than the French in a world war, contributing to the culture of disrespect for environmentally friendly modes of transportation. While the American dream seems to have morphed into having the ability to drive from store to store as we shop our way down a strip mall, it seems as if it will be a peaceful day in Baghdad before the crosswalks will be safe.

- Sarah Letnes

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