Observations.

As I drove home for lunch today, I took a moment to make some observations of those around me. I’ve mentioned before that I find people fascinating, but today I think “dumb” would be a better adjective to use.

Observation #1: An apparently dear, sweet old lady is driving up the busy four-lane street that goes right through downtown. She is in the left lane and couldn’t be closer to that middle yellow stripe if she was knitting the damn thing. So what does she do? She stops in the middle of the road, slams her Buick in park and then gets out to read the flyer that she ‘suddenly’ discovered under her windshield wiper.

Observation #2: Mid 50s-ish, slightly balding, presumably gay man walks out of ‘trendy’ restaurant in downtown area with lady (cough, fag hag, cough) friend in tow. His shirt is [strike 1] pink. His collar is [strike 2] popped. He is singing, loud enough to be obnoxious, [strike 3] Prince’s “Cream”. (A popped collar trumps my jean shorts anyday. I don’t care what anyone says).

Observation #3: Because of the diversity of the folks in this area, the city recently changed all their “WALK” and “DON’T WALK” signals to symbols of a hand in a stop in the name of love motion and an asexual person walking to the left. The person walking lights up white, the stopping hand is amber. Apparently this stumps pedestrian traffic as they now avoid the crosswalk all together and walk kitty-corner across the intersection.

Observation #4: Some flag people at construction sites think they have way too much power. I know the gesturing to the left motion you’re making means I need to turn left. I don’t need the flag waved at the car like some neon colorguard routine, I don’t need to feel like my Acura is bigger than the 747 you are apparently trying to land with all those gyrations you’re doing, I got it. Turn left. Considering the road was blocked off in every other direction, it didn’t really take that much energy for me to figure out which way to go.

Observation #5: I’ve never smoked anything in my entire life, so maybe I don’t get this addiction thing going on, but if you’re driving a new Mustang that you refuse to smoke in, please don’t pollute the 10 feet between your parking space and the office front door by smoking a pack while in transit.