Rules of the Road

There are plenty of places in Manhattan where casual, pleasant, even aimless strolling is completely appropriate.

The financial district at rush hour is not one of them.

Why is it so hard for people to figure out how to walk in crowded public areas? To me it just seems like common sense, but apparently some people need common sense spelled out for them. Therefore, I call upon the City of New York to issue regulations for proper sidewalk behavior and to issue citations for flagrant violators.

The key is simple self-awareness. If you are slower than average, stick to the building side of the curb, and stay there. Especially in lower Manhattan, where the layout dates to colonial times, sidewalks can be narrow. There's plenty of room for people to pass if you stick to one side; if you insist on meandering right down the middle, there's not.

I recognize that I am tall and have long legs and can take longer strides than most people. I'm also very type-A when I walk: I know where I'm going and don't like to waste time getting there. If I wanted to stop and smell the roses, I'd hurry to an appropriate place to do that. So I don't mean to discriminate against pedestrian Yugos, but please be courteous to people like me (that would be most of Manhattan) and get the hell out of my way.

Sidewalk etiquette is almost identical to the rules for driving. Think of Manhattan sidewalks as urban freeways, with multiple lanes, frequent exits, high traffic and high speeds that require concentration and quick reflexes. It also helps to know where you're going.

When you're driving a car on a freeway and decide you're unsure of which way to go, you don't just come to a screeching halt and stare at the exit signs. If you must, you pull over or take the next exit to study your map. The same goes for walking. Standing right smack dab in the center of a sidewalk corner is akin to halting your car in the middle of a four-way intersection. Stand up against the wall of the building, instead.

When merging onto a busy sidewalk, be sure to check for oncoming traffic, particularly if you don't have a lot of horsepower. I am forever tripping over people who just step out of buildings in the same cavalier manner as I step out of the bathroom when I am home alone. If you see a Type-A barreling along, merge in right behind him. Trust me, you won't be tailgating very long.

Walk single file, especially during busy hours and on narrower sidewalks. Walking four-abreast and maintaining a conversation is as rude as putting your feet up on an empty subway seat during rush hour.

Stairs, escalators and revolving doors: FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, DON'T STOP THERE. I love when people stop at the end of an escalator and try to decide which way to go, and then give ME a dirty look when the escalator dumps me out on top of them with a hundred people behind me. Just go through a revolving door? Keep moving, or someone's getting decapitated. (Also, if you stop right in front of a subway turnstile and start looking for your MetroCard, then I promise you that you are going to end up in the Ninth Circle of Hell, which distinctly resembles the Rockefeller Center station on the BDFQV lines during rush hour on an August afternoon, except the train never comes. This is still better than the 11th Circle of Hell, where you stand for all eternity at the turnstile getting the "PLEASE SWIPE AGAIN" message while a thousand demons stand behind you and yell.)

Here's a tip for Type-A's who find themselves having to maneuver through tourist hordes in Times Square and other places. Simply throw your hands up in the air and say in a loud voice, "Homosexual coming through!" Seriously, they are so surprised that they part like the Red Sea.

I write this post because I had something of a fender-bender last night. First off, I was in more of a hurry than usual because I had evening plans. The Fulton Street Station was closed for some unexplained reason, so I had to walk to the next stop at Chambers Street, about 15 minutes away by foot. (Well, 15 minutes if you're me.) So I was irritated.

The entrance to the station is at the downtown-end of the train, but I like to ride in the first car because it's much less crowded and that's where my exit is, anyway. So I was strolling briskly down the platform intending to reach the front before the train got there, when I encountered the worst of all sidewalk offenders: The Drifter.

How, in a city of 8 million people, folks can walk around as if they are all by themselves, I have no idea. But I got stuck behind this little wisp of a thing who nonetheless prevented my passage by going slowly and refusing to move in a straight line. She'd drift a little to the left, then back to the right. She was actually semi-rhythmic about it, and so just when I thought I'd figured out her timing, I floored it, as it were, and tried to pass her on the right.

Of course that's when for no reason she changed course and collided with me.

"Hey, watch where you're going, you fucking asshole!" she shouted.

Me, watch where I'm going? I recognize that I have a particular talent for sidewalking that exceeds most peoples' abilities. I can dodge strollers and maneuver around scaffolding and toddlers as nimbly as Fred Astaire. Me, watch where I'm going? I'd watched this bitch go NOWHERE for yards, analyzed her gait and seized my opportunity. I make a virtual science out of watching where I'm going, and this little wench has the audacity not only to collide with me but to accuse me of her own breach of public etiquette.

Just to show off, I proceeded to shower her with a few choice words without messing a step, walking backwards at full speed and not bumping into anything. "You walk like my blind alcoholic grandmother drives!"

Now, in the interest of fairness, I will confess my own sidewalk faults: I speed and have been known to walk while intoxicated. (But I still manage a straight line, honey.)