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By Maura Madden
Everybody knows about New York traffic. It's the stuff of legends. The city streets filled with vehicles at a standstill, peppered with the familiar yellow of taxicabs. Or in motion, when motorists cut across three lanes at the speed of a drunk race car driver, risking life and Alfa Romeo to arrive somewhere chic on time. Add to this the bike messengers, the motorcycles and the delivery guys, sprinkle with hyper-kinetic fire trucks and the shrieking ambulances, and you have the gorgeous mosaic of New York City traffic. You're not going to get anywhere on time, and if you do, you kiss the ground when you arrive. Timeliness in New York traffic can only be the result of a wild ride.
But I don't know how to drive a car, and I can't afford to take taxis, and the buses are too slow and who wants to ride in a horse and carriage? So I take the subways for long distances and walk around the rest of the time. Which results in another New York experience - grappling with foot traffic.
Oh sure, it seems so simple, just walking down a city street. In Brooklyn, it's really no trouble - most neighborhoods are quiet and invite strolling. And there are parts of Manhattan that have decent walking conditions - on the West Side, near the river, where abandoned warehouses abound or down around Wall Street late at night. But I am temping in Midtown, and I am working nine to five. And I have been experiencing the trauma that is foot traffic.
The subway delivers me just blocks away from where I work. But every morning, I'm rushing, and at nine in the morning on 42nd Street, I'm not the only one rushing. There are hundreds of people beside me, hustling to make it in on time and just as many people who are dragging their heels in horror. The combined powers of these opposing forces result in a human obstacle course that rivals those created by the military to prepare soldiers for hand-to-hand combat.
The fast ones brush past you forcefully. They put a hand on your shoulder to push you out of the way. They attack your heels with handcarts and slam your shins with wobbling baggage-on-wheels. They plow into you at an angle while making a diagonal crossing on a cell phone. They accidentally whack you with their briefcases or skim your knuckles with their cigarettes. And that's only the folks who are walking in your direction. The head-on traffic is a beast of a different breed.
In a head-on collision, indecision is the primary culprit. Take, for example, the mirror move, which consists of attempting avoidance by moving to the side, only to find your opponent has chosen the same side to move to. The mirror move is usually repeated in triplicate and ends in the last minute hands-up, I-give-up, I'm-out-of-your-way-like-a-door swing. But occasionally, in rush-hour foot traffic, the mirror move can result in a head-on collision.
Another cause of these high-speed collisions is stubbornness on the parts of both walkers. This manifests itself in a complete unwillingness to stray from your chosen path. The result of such stubbornness can mean pedestrian disaster - spilled coffee, toppled floral arrangements, scattered packages and broken eggs. The reaction is usually, "Jesus Christ!" or "God, watch where you're going!" but sometimes the F-bomb is dropped.
Collisions of other varieties can occur, almost entirely caused by obliviousness of other walkers. This obliviousness is usually the result of cell phone conversations, networking handshakes while in motion, spaced-out upwards glances in reaction to the height of the buildings, or starry-eyed foot fumbles caused by the glory of love. In these instances, the "Jesus Christ!" exclamation is usually countered with a dazed, "Oh, sorry!" or "Gee, excuse me" but can also be replaced by the never-out-of-style "Lighten up!"
I find myself huffing frequently when I am walking through foot traffic. That's right, people, huffing. Do you know how embarrassing it is to find yourself turning into a huffer? It's absolutely horrible. But that's what happens when you're faced with the terrors of New York foot traffic. You curse, you breathe loudly, you roll your eyes, and you find yourself transformed into Huff, the Angry Walker. And when it's all said and done and you've made your way through the crowds in respectable time, your reward for all of your hustling is eight hours of office work. And that, my friends, is one hell of a reward.
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