If you asked me what I thought of Slow Walkers, I would say they’re a bit irritating. But on a deeper level, their leisurely, careless attitude vexes me to the core. They walk around without apparent thought or reason, unbeknownst to the nuisance that is them. They stroll down sidewalks and halls in nonchalant rows, blocking people with destinations from passing. I watch as their feet step in perfectly slow sync. It’s disgusting. I’m left searching for a slight crack in formation I can slip through to continue my pace. I hold my breath each time these feet approach a puddle or loose litter, and exhale when they, by sheer luck, manage to avoid it. Slow Walkers never notice.
People say I walk like I’m late — which is often true due to faulty alarms, daily mishaps, and, for the most part, poor time management. However, this tendency occurs regardless of punctuality or intention. It is a habit, and all habits are subconscious. What in my subconscious causes the soles of my feet to always be on the run? It’s only natural to me, how my cadence accelerates to compensate for my short stride, and I feel like I have no time to lose even though I often have nowhere to be. I could be on my way to anywhere, so I keep moving, keep going to escape my trailing footprints. Perhaps what lies at the base of my annoyance toward Slow Walkers is envy. How would my life be if I wasn’t so hyper-aware of every irksome detail, if I could turn off the siren warning “Watch Out!”? I could walk like there’s more than 24 hours until tomorrow. I could jump like there’s surely someone to catch me. And I could expect everything to work out just fine.
But alas, I deftly sidestep the ambling walkers. With a cold glare and the sweet feeling of triumph, I skitter down the sidewalk and keep my eyes peeled for tripping hazards. Turning the corner, I find an innocuous pedestrian crossing and a flashing yellow sign that blinks back at me: SLOW DOWN. SLOW DOWN. SLOW DOWN…
