Walking around the campus made me feel powerful. I openly defied the laws that restricted me to the white stripes of crosswalks and crossed where I pleased. The slim, curvy roads on the campus kept most drivers from speeding, forcing them to pay attention to the bold pedestrians who could pop out at any minute, from any corner. And once those pedestrians' shoes hit the street, they owned drivers, walking as quickly or as slowly as they pleased.
And there was nothing the drivers could do to about it. Already filled with the slightly bloated ego of the typical college kid, I took full advantage of my powers and took no notice of drivers at all, not giving any thought at all to their frustrations or possible rush. At least not until I became one of them.
In the real world, making a left turn at an intersection with a stop sign would take no more than a minute or two if there were two or three cars ahead of you. In the world of bold Terrapins and curvy, narrow roads, it takes nine. Nine whole minutes. Just to make a left.
Third in line at the intersection across from the chemistry building, I sat watching as students poured from the surrounding buildings, from down the street and from the Regents Lane Garage and flowed freely into the streets like so many ants, oblivious to the Jeep desperately trying to break through them. But seeing so many cars waiting for so long, surely a few students would be kind enough to simply wait and let a car or two pass, right? Ha. That's funny.
But wait, there it is, a gap. A gap empty of a skateboarder, a chemistry major, an underdressed freshman sporting black Uggs and booty shorts (because that makes sense). And just as the poor Jeep releases its brakes and presses gently on the gas pedal, out comes a kid with his bike, shattering the Jeep's hope of arriving on time. Two cars away and still a good way from my parking spot, he shattered my hope of making it to my class with a reasonable amount of time left in it.
Because, of course, once bike guy gives the signal, another flow must follow.
But every so often, a driver will be lucky enough to encounter pedestrians who don't cross, not because they have not fully realized that here, jaywalking is a right rather than a crime, but because they choose not to cross. They understand the frustrations and distresses of the driver, the cold disregard of a driver's needs by pedestrians. They've noticed the long, restless waits, the frequent outbreaks of sweat when we see an approaching pedestrian walking too quickly for us to zoom past before they cross. And to the pedestrians who care, I salute you. You are our only hope to driving sanely.
Saron Yitbarek is a sophomore psychology major. She can be reached at yitbarekdbk@gmail.com.
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