I always hope to have that pithy remark ready, should someone require such correction in the course of my life. But when I was on a run a few weeks ago, I turned out to be remarkably unready to deliver anything close to an incisive commentary on this man’s choice not to look at the crosswalk before rolling his truck right into it.
See, I went on my run early in the day so I could avoid seeing people. I pull my buff up to mask my face when I run near people, so the less I have to do that, the better. It’s not that early though – the sun is, in fact, nearly over the ridge, and it’s plenty bright enough outside. Plus, I’m wearing a bright yellow shirt. I’m plenty visible – the problem was not on that end.
No, as I ran on the sidewalk on Apple from Parkcenter towards Boise, I only glanced for a moment when I saw a truck moving in the D & B parking lot. I figured they would have to see me; after all, I was right there on the sidewalk. I didn’t look up as I entered the crosswalk that bridges the sidewalk from one side of the driveway to the other. Turns out, neither did the truck driver. It continued to roll directly into the crosswalk that I was occupying.
I finally looked up to see the driver’s right ear as he looked at the road, in an apparent attempt to enter the roadway without having to come to a complete stop at all.
Later, I thought that I should have slapped the truck – after all, it was about to slap me. Or that I should have said something clever. Instead, I spread my arms wide and waved them and uttered these words: “Hey! Hey! Hey! Fuuuuuck!”
Thus is defined the limit of my ability to produce a comeback mid-run while my heart is pounding extra hard from almost being rolled over by a truck.
I ran on. I did glance back, but I wasn’t at a good angle to see if the driver was as disturbed by almost hitting me as I was at almost being hit. I hope he was, but I bet he wasn’t.