Herschel

I wasn't going to post anything today, but then I witnessed something on the way to my daughter's daycare that demanded to be shared. I'm driving down the street during rush hour, which is a feat all by itself in DC, but somehow I managed to catch most of the lights. I know that all good things must come to an end, so as I neared the intersection of Connecticut and K Street I prepared myself to sit there for a while. For those unfamiliar with the area, that intersection might as well be a brick wall because there is always gridlock.

To my surprise, not only was there no idiots blocking the intersection, I also saw that the far right lane was empty. In DC's rush hour traffic being first in a lane is like winning the lottery. There's no worry of what the idiot in front of you will do:

Bus-- Maybe it'll stop to pick up people and hold up traffic.
Cyclist--Maybe they'll take that moment to pedal as slow as humanly possible (with no hands on the handlebars) while texting.
Car--Out of state tags signals tourist, which means they'll be taking pictures or pointing at stuff. Local tags is anybody's guess.
Cab--Wild Card. Anything is possible. Maybe they'll jump over four lanes to pick up a fare or maybe they'll just reverse backwards down the street because it amuses them. Who knows?

Suffice to say, I was happy. I made my way to the intersection at the ripe old speed of 19 miles an hour (which is warp speed during rush hour), when what to my wandering eyes should appear but a black dude in a suit. I shall call him Herschel Walker.

At some point in the 5 seconds before my light turned green, Herschel decided to run the 40. I don't know why. Maybe he was trying to see if he still had it. He does. The fact that I'm telling this story on a blog and not to police signifies that not even wingtips can stop a man with something to prove. I can only imagine what was going through his mind at the time.

"Here's my big chance. Scouts are watching. As soon as this light turns red I'm charging across eight lanes of traffic like the bull that I am. Here it is! Torro! Torro!"

Hell, everyone's jaywalked at some point in their lives. The whole idea is that even if you can't make it all the way across before your light turns red, you can at least get to the other curb before the cars have a chance to take off. It's not like you're challenging a bunch of Lamborghinis or something. A Ford Escort isn't going from 0-60 anytime soon. But young Herschel's eyes widened just enough for me to see exactly what he was thinking as he made it to my lane.

"I never considered that there would be a car coming down the street in the far lane who would already be going at a considerable speed. He appears to be going roughly 19 miles an hour. Mass * Acceleration=Force. I am going to die."

I am not making this up. For whatever reason, Herschel's mind told him to make the Heisman Trophy pose with his briefcase clutched to his chest in his far hand, and the other arm extended as if he were going to stiff arm the hood of my car. I slammed on the brakes, which gave him just enough time to juke and hurdle over onto the curb. The funny thing is that he didn't even stop then. He just kept running. In this job market, I don't blame him. I wouldn't let death stop me from getting to work either.