Last friday night, we went out to dinner with Sam in tow. It was an experiment that had me more than a little stressed. It took forever to get to the restaurant because of traffic, so we arrived later than we would have liked. Once we got settled, though, I was able to relax. We had a really nice pinot, and mostly tasty food. Sam was getting a little restless and the place was getting a bit fuller once we finished our entrees, so we got dessert to go.
Because the restaurant is on the corner of a wonky five-way intersection, we had to cross a handful of streets to get there from whence we parked. We headed back to the car via a slightly different combination of streets, and came upon a short section of sidewalk that was closed. There were big orange and white barrels and that orange construction fence all around it. Because it was only about two car lengths from the cross walk, we just waited there until the light was red, the cars had stopped, and walked in between them. It was a very well lit intersection and both cars we walked in front of waved us on. So I was quite surprised that after we were about fifteen feet away, the one car rolled down his window and said something to the effect that we should just use the crosswalk next time.
My eyes began boiling with rage.
One thing I will say about the people in Atlanta is that they do not, by and large, know how to cross a street. This seems like a simple skill, right? They even changed the old 'Walk' or 'Don't Walk' signs to pictures, so you don't even have to be able to read. A big red hand means STOP and a walky white person/guy means GO. I think they teach it on Sesame Street. So why does no one here understand that?
I figured that this guy was probably a northerner, like me, and thought I was a local girl completely unable to figure out how to cross the street on my own. I made it about five more feet before turning around and yelling, 'The sidewalk is closed, asshole!' and giving him the finger.
Last night, Dr. SOB came home from work and informed me that someone came up to him at work and apologized for upsetting me so much. Turns out, the crosswalk man is a physician's assistants at Dr.'s hospital. He saw SOB and was trying to make a joke. Obviously I had never met the man before, therefore the joke was lost on me. Dr. admitted that, at the time, he though the guy looked familiar, but he didn't say anything because I was so angry and he didn't want me to be embarrassed, too.
Suffice to say, I am never leaving the house again.
2 comments:
So you don't take jokes well. Or, more probable, that guy doesn't make jokes well
I hate to judge his joke making ability based on this one incident, but it does seem he has a piss poor sense of humor.
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