Lord, It's Hard to Be Type A

When I worked in midtown, one of my pet peeves (that’s too mild – sources of rage) was the way the traffic lights are timed to halt you at every block. Only by assiduous rushing, lucky pedestrian-dodging and eventually flat-out running can you catch a Walk just before it turns into Don’t Walk. Then don’t imagine you’re rewarded for your athletic efforts. You’ll get stopped at the next light, sure as shooting, unless you repeat your rushing, dodging and sprinting. Often you simply can’t make it because of the crowds on the sidewalk and you end up trapped in one, waiting for the eternity of a New York traffic light to change.

This scenario was unbearable to me. When I walk, I like to walk without stopping. I don’t even like to stop for street performers or sidewalk art. I used to tell my mother she should wear blinders, like a horse, so I could walk with her because otherwise she would drive me mad with her frequent stops to take an interest in some art thing going on nearby.

Art, shmart. When I walk, I want to keep moving. I’m a fast walker and that’s why I don’t understand why the traffic lights are against me in New York. Shouldn’t they reward the Type A walker? Instead they seemed specifically designed to frustrate her, in particular. “Don’t think you can get up a head of steam,” they seem to say. “Slow down, look at the advertising, think about buying something.” That just occurred to me. What other reason could they have for frustrating and angering the fast walker so persistently? I used to get so angry walking south from 38th St. to 33rd on 6th or Broadway that I wished I hadn’t even exited my dismal office building (hi, old friends!)

I just don’t get it. I feel angry sitting here just remembering it. I thought I’d mention, though, that I’ve recently noticed the same phenomenon in my Brooklyn neighborhood. A swift pace of walking is rewarded by a Don’t Walk sign hitting you in the face at every corner. The blocks are longer, so the irritability is less. A modicom. A hair.