Yesterday, I had one of those 'are-you-going-left?-I'm-going-left-oops-I'll-go-right-Shit-you're-going-right" moments while crossing a street in centre-ville. This usually happens to me a couple times a day. You know what I'm talking about. Those situations where you're walking down the sidewalk and look up to find someone coming toward you from the other direction and to avoid crashing into each other, you both go one way. Startled out of the hum-drum of standard streetwalking norms, you don't bump into each other -- there is an invisible air buffer -- but you stand face to face for a second, before politely trying to pass each other by both going left or right at the same time, and you get increasingly frustrated because you are not able to get by, like you're stuck in a computer glitch.
So why do I care?
Well what made yesterday's piece of social interaction noteworthy was the fact that the person I was locked in battle with sat on a motorized scooter, had wispy white hair under a fuzzy toque and he was grinning maniacally behind snowboard goggles like he was the Red Baron.
Classic.
Cursing in French, he sped away, spraying slushy snow as he took the sidewalk curb in a tiffy. And I walked away with a satisfied smirk, knowing that somewhere on the planet, Larry David was nodding his appreciation.
In a completely unrelated tangent, I've been burning up Lupe's Enemy of the State mixtape of late.
Unfortunately, in high school I was voted the most Barry Horowitziest
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