One morning I walking to work from the subway in Boston’s Financial District. As I arrived at one particular intersection, I saw a lean business man who was wearing sunglasses and looked rather tense. He started crossing the street as a car made a slow creep through the traffic light (which I couldn’t tell the color of). The car, because it was driving through the cross walk, caused the man to scream, “I’m in the cross walk!” to the overeager driver.
A second, slightly older man who was walking behind the first man shook his head at the screaming guy and very passively and calmly said, “Shut the f*ck up, dude.”
I loved it. I get mad at cars when they cut me off in cross walks too but I don’t blow up with extreme, vein-popping, rage.
The response was good too. Someone who sees this kind of behavior all too often and gives a kind of defeated, “Shut the f*ck up.” He was so tired of saying the word “f*ck” already that day and it was only 9:00 AM! Then, to complete his exasperation, he used the word “dude!” Perfect.
How did this confrontation end? Everyone just kept on walking, no further discussion. Maybe this could have happened anywhere but my mind instantly went to, “Oh Boston, you’re so charming.” That delightful amount of bitterness that makes people feel alive.
This past week I found out that I have to move in August. The apartment I’ve lived in for 3 years has been sold. I’m already stressing about the idea