One of my exercise routines involves walking the circumference of the Village early in the morning. It's usually about 7:00 to 8:00 for the one hour walk. Part of my course is the length of Griffing, from 9th Avenue (near the track at the southeast corner of the Village) to 121st St. I walk in the street, until cars come, at which point I take to the medians. I'm a little bit conspicuous, not only because I'm walking in the street, but because I wear a weight vest, which looks like a bullet-proof vest. Some people ask me if that's what it is.
There isn't much going on at that time of day, and not much to look at, other than the houses and the cars. I have gotten to thinking about those cars, the ones that are moving, the ones I have to avoid, and I wonder what the drivers are about. I suspect they are mostly visitors, passing through the Village on their ways to work, although some are definitely Village residents leaving the Village for their work days. Some are delivering children to schools.
I wonder what we look like to them, and if they notice us at all. It's common to see people looking straight ahead, as perhaps they should be, and not infrequently on their phones. I'm not sure I think they should be doing that, especially since it appears none of them use hands-free headsets. I think we're invisible to these people, apart from offering them roadways.
So I have devised a habit. Whenever a car passes me (I walk against traffic, so oncoming drivers will clearly see me, and vice versa), I wave to the driver, and I smile at them. My fantasy is that I am making unexpected contact with them. I'm making us less anonymous and inanimate. I'm giving them a reason to think about us. I tell myself I'm creating a kind of relationship with these people, and that because of that relationship, the Village will become more real and alive to them, and that they might even care about us. This could lead them to do certain things like driving more carefully.
There are a few reactions I elicit from my new friends. One is a wave and smile in return. Funny enough, some of them wave at me more animatedly than I wave at them. I suppose it's not entirely a good thing, but sometimes, it's even the people who are using one hand to hold a cell phone to their ears who then use the other hand to wave.
This brings me to a digression. I very much object to people being on the phone while they're driving, especially when they're holding the phone. Not only are they paying attention to the call instead of the driving, but they're using a whole hand that should be operating the vehicle, and they're keeping their necks rigid, so it's not doing other things, like turning their heads so they can see what's going on around them. I tried to propose a Village Ordinance against using a cell phone without a hands-free device while driving, but the State won't let us restrict like that. So my next thought is that we have our police stop such drivers, have a friendly chat with them about the importance of paying full attention while driving, and offer to sell them a hands-free device on the spot. We could have a selection of such devices in each cruiser. An attention-getter for drivers, a safety improvement, and revenue for the Village. No?
Anyway, back to my friendly outreach campaign. I have actually convinced myself that I'm accomplishing something with this maneuver. Not only do I make contact, and elicit the return gestures, but I think the desired end result is happening. I can hear the cars slow down. That was my first thought. My second thought was that this was just an auditory illusion, created by the change in the direction of sound waves as the car moves from approaching me to distancing itself, as it passes. But on those occasions when I bother to turn my head, I see enough brake lights that I really do believe these drivers are slowing down. I have achieved my goal. I may look like an inane idiot, wearing a bullet-proof vest and waving at strangers, but I think I, and we, are different to these otherwise passers-through. And that was what I wanted.
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