Pedestrian Rights

This is another one of those sore subjects with me. Whenever I start ranting on this one, my husband just rolls his eyes. It's just that I'm appalled at how people in cars treat people who are on foot.

I was at the W-mart today (I know I know) picking up some more DVD-RWs so I could share the Grey's Anatomy series that I downloaded with my Mom. (LOVE THAT SHOW!) I also got some peas and carrots so I could make some fried rice for dinner.

So I'm coming out of the W-mart, and walking across the street in that area with the big bold yellow stripes that is supposed to mean that cars stop when people are walking across. You know, the PEDESTRIAN ZONE? Well I'm walking at a nice brisk pace out to my car that I parked in the very back of the parking lot (go Weight Watchers!), and this giant Dodge Ram diesel is pausing to allow me to cross. This truck is so big, the TIRES are almost taller than me. I don't know how the fella even knew I was there, so I felt pretty grateful. So after I cross, I am walking as close to the side so that anyone driving can get around me. The aforementioned redneckmobile is suddenly breathing down my neck. I move over as close to the cars as I can get without jumping on the hoods and jumping from one to the next, right? STILL, the diesel fumes are stirring the hairs on the back of my neck. So I just turned in between two cars hoping he would go on around, at which point he FLOORS the gas and screeches past me. I thought he must have been in a really big hurry to get out of the parking lot, but no, he pulls into a parking place about four more past my car. This is when the evil grin begins spreading across my face.

See, what people don't think about when they try to run down a pedestrian, is that often said pedestrian is walking to their own car, and almost as often the attempted murderer is about to park and find themselves on foot with a long way to walk from their car to the W-mart. *wicked evil maniacal laugh*

So yeah, I got into my car, backed up and found myself headlights to face with the not-so-big-and-threatening-looking fella from the Dodge. Funny how his car was a Dodge, because that would have been a very useful word for him to know at this point. It was such a delicious feeling when I saw the realization flood across his face that he was facing the pedestrian that he was just torturing with his huge monster truck. I revved my engine and watched the color drain from his face as he saw my wicked grin. Because even though his truck was bigger than my little 626, no scrawny redneck with a wad of chewing tobacco shoved in his cheek is any match for a ton of angry Mazda. So now I need to go to the car wash...