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Said elsewhere:
By month:
April 11, 2007
Wam.
That’s the sound of a pedestrian getting nailed by a pick-up truck. Maybe next time they’ll pay attention to the road. Who knew Target parking lots were so dangerous?
There’s a trend among weekend warrior consumers these days. It has nothing to do with the way they spend money, or the kind of items they purchase. It has everything to do with the way they carelessly conduct themselves crossing the dredded striped road of death. You know what I’m talking about. That little area between a Target (or Walmart) and its parking lot. The zone where people just assume all automobiles will ground to a halt for them.
It’s not so much the way they keep walking without even thinking. Actually, that’s exactly it. Christ, people, pay more attention, would you? Out of sheer respect for the individual driving the ton-of-steel car towards your stroller, please stop and look.
I have to make the dreaded pilgrimage passed Target every day, and every day it’s the same thing. Never looking up, talking on the cell phone, drooling a little, always in assumption all traffic will stop. 99% of the time, we will. Does that mean you should trust us? Hell no. For every 50 cars that stop, there will be one redneck that decides it’s his day to play pedestrian bowling.
Not to mention the fact that the stream is endless. I’ve stopped for minutes on end, watching countless people zombie’ing themselves in and out of said-superstore. I can feel the consumerism take over what was once their brains. Ever see the zombie flick set in a mall? Yeah, me too. Same thing. If an arm fell off one of them I wouldn’t be shocked.
But hey, I’m part of that assembly line once and awhile, too. Only difference is I stop at the line and take a quick glance at what out-of-control bus might be coming towards me. Of course, as I stop to look there’s always a couple had-one-too-many-Big-Mac parents to heave that sigh of disdain at the dummy actually stopping for a second.
So next time you’re idly strolling towards a Target superstore, and happen to glance at somebody patiently waiting in their car for you to cross, just remember one thing: for that split moment in time, they really, really don’t like you.
Somebody Might Say: