Those of you following my escapades in my new west coast locale  know that I have a somewhat complicated relationship with the Bay Area drivers.  To put it bluntly, I hate them.  But here’s something different:  I also hate the pedestrians.  

In New York City, which I have come to realize is one of the great driving towns, the pedestrians and the drivers have a pact.  In fact, we have two pacts —  that’s how hip we are.  First, the peddie-pact:  My ability to cross the street is directly proportional to the distance of your approaching vehicle from my body.  It’s really quite simple.  The farther away you are from the car, the better the chance of a successful crossing.   

Now let’s hear from the driver:  My inclination to stop ends with your indecision.  In other words, if you cross the street we will stop, but we’ll be damned if we’re going to waste time waiting for you to make up your mind.  Just do it!

Here on the left coast  the pedestrians clearly have the upper hand and they are not shy about letting you know it.  They boldly step into the street without so much as establishing eye contact with the driver.  They don’t even look at you, which annoys me to no end.  Correct me if I’m wrong, but on the one hand you have a two ton vehicle, and on the other hand you have yourself.  Even allowing for the fact that you are an American I would guess that the weight advantage goes to the driver.  AT LEAST LOOK AT ME! 

 On top of that, if you dare to say anything to a pedestrian he/she will become tetchy and defensive.  A few weeks ago I was stopped at a red light about to turn right.  (Yeah, right on red.  Suck on that, New York!)  Just as I was inching up to turn two guys stepped into the cross walk.  One of them glared at me and shouted, “Hey!”  So I put my hands up in the universal sign of ‘what’s the matter?’  He shouted back, “Don’t give me any attitude!  Don’t start with me…” 

What the fuck?!   I didn’t say anything!  In New York they would have just walked around me, or I would have made my turn to get out of their way —  no muss, no fuss.  Here it’s a federal case if you don’t drive like a 75-year-old Iowan paster.  (I don’t want to hear about it from the Iowans….I’M IN NO MOOD)

Now let’s examine my down-the-street neighbor, who darted in front of my car just to tell me I was driving too fast.  (I wasn’t)  He proceeded to lecture me on the dangers of speeding on a local street.  ‘I get it, oh righteous, smug one.  Can I leave now, or do you want to go over weights and measures too?’  I think he was hoping that I would have run him over so as to prove his point.  And I thought folks were supposed to be laid back here.

While I’m on a roll [even though this has nothing to do with driving or walking]  let’s give a shout-out to our next door neighbor who called the cops on my 16-year-old son for playing his electric guitar too loud.  At 3PM!  The cops were actually apologetic about having to ask him to lower the volume.  The guy could have come over and talked to us, but instead chose the Bay Area method.

Like I’ve said before, I’ve only been here a brief time so I’m giving the cool people a chance to make themselves known to me.  So far the locals have made an unfortunate first impression, but I’ll give them this:  They’re not the ones that are going to have to modify their behaviour.  Besides, you all can see it coming — it’s only a matter of time before I get my first moving violation.

The ball is in my court.  I’ve got to relax, take a deep breath, put some Michael McDonald on the car-stereo, and drive like an Iowan.