Now, I may not drive a car, but I do know a bit about traffic laws. And being a constant pedestrian, I am annoyingly particular about following these traffic laws. And living on a corner of a major road makes this mother of three very insistent on following these laws each and every time we walk-- each day we cross that major road in the morning to go to the bus stop, and once again in the afternoon to come home. I know that crosswalk usage is a current topic in local (and Washington, DC) news, and pedestrian responsibility has been a big component of many recent accidents. I'm the mother who demands 100% compliance from the big kid about always pushing the crosswalk button and waiting for the signal to turn, even if it means we stand on the corner for several minutes while there is zero traffic. Guess what? You wait for the flashing crosswalk guy to appear on the sign, regardless of the presence of vehicles. That's just the way it is.
So unto today's lovely events. We had pushed the button (the big kid's job- although he is still of the mindset that if he pushes the button 712 times in quick succession, the light will change faster...), and were waiting at the corner to cross the big road. Now, I'm going to assume that I wouldn't have to explain this to any responsible, knowledgeable driver, but I'll say it anyway. I understand that the lane to turn right onto said big road gets a green light at the same time as our signal flashes to cross. That's the way that it works-- the pedestrians get to go at the same time as the parallel traffic. IF you need to turn and go through the crosswalk, it is YOUR responsibility Mr. Driver, to WAIT FOR THE PEDESTRIANS TO PASS THROUGH THAT PORTION OF THE CROSSWALK. I know, pretty basic, right?
Back to today. So right as our signal begins to flash, a car comes speeding down the road and doesn't even pause slightly before swinging right and driving right into the path that we were about to step onto. I literally had to grab at the big kid's arm while yelling, "STOP!" to avoid him getting hit. This in addition to stopping the SUV-stroller right as I was getting the momentum to push it forward. Now that's bad enough, but here's where the story makes me shake with anger.As the car passes us, I see two of our local high school's finest in the little convertible and I raise my arm in a hey-don't-mind-the-mom-and-three-kids-trying-to-cross-the-road expression. This is what I get in response: "We got a green light, b#$*h! F*$K you and your kids, you f*$king whore!"
Yeah. Seriously. It took every ounce of self-control I had not to launch into a verbal tirade at the passing car and its two fantastic representations of adolescence. I really wished that I had sudden SuperMommy powers that would allow me to move my children out of harm's way and then zoom up, up and away to catch up to their speeding car, all so I could wallop them upside the head. Okay, okay, cursing back at them or inciting violence won't solve anything, but I gotta tell you, in that moment that my children's safety was compromised, followed by some serious exposure to inappropriate language, I was pretty incensed. But, honestly, we had to just literally walk away because it's a short light and I was not in any mood to have to wait through another light cycle before crossing.
The funny thing was that immediately after they passed us and serenaded us with their compassionate use of the English language, a city police car turned from the other side of the street in that same direction and turned on his lights and sirens. After we arrived on the other side of the road, I wondered if the officer was going to pull the car over. Unfortunately, the road curves and goes downhill in such a way that I couldn't see anything from that point, and I didn't want to walk down the road because it could have been a bit of a stretch until he even caught up with the car. Or, he could have been flashing and siren-ing for a completely different reason. (Which was actually the case, I believe, because I called the local station a few minutes later and was told that all units were out on an emergency. Just my luck-- an actual cop there in the moment, but he's called away to something more important. Ugh.)
It took me a good fifteen to twenty minutes to stop the scene from replaying over and over and over in my mind once we got home. I even cried a little- that's just me, strong emotion, whatever it is, leads to the need to cry. Was I offended? Did I truly care what some nitwits who have been alive for less than half of my life thought about me and my menagerie of children? No, not really, but come on, it's not easy to be called a whore by anyone. In front of your children. Accompanied by intense language that I don't want my almost-two-year-old to start repeating in her little sing-songy voice. I think it comes down to this: I continue to have these stupid experiences where I am following the rules, really, conscientiously following the established rules, and I get crapped on. My kids almost get hurt. I am confronted with a cacophony of off-colored language by some pimply kid who's been driving for 1/16 of his life and yet thinks he owns the world.
I don't know what's in store for me in the future as the big kid becomes an adolescent, but man oh man, I just haven't had a positive interaction with a teenager in a long, long time. I am starting to see why websites like this have come to be.
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