Andrew J. Lederer

What is it with Brits? Why don't they ever seem like they've got somewhere to go? Amblin' down the sidewalk, changing direction in languid fashion, groups splaying themselves across the pedestrian roadway so as to block actual pedestrians . . .

And, of course, the rare purposeful citizen -- the exception that proves the rule -- will barrel into you without concern, knowing it'll be alright as long as he or she says, "Sorry." (My friend pointed out this magic word business to me and, boy, is it ever true.)

You guys have beautiful, wide sidewalks and I can't move on them because you won't. It's gotten to the point where I now bump into people on purpose when I'm perfectly capable of maneuvering out of their way (something it wouldn't occur to them to do for me) in hopes I can drum into them, through pain, the idea that maybe they should be aware of others in their midst.

And so, the other night, it came to this -- I found myself colliding with the unexpected belly of an otherwise normal-looking blonde whose torso was concealed by her jacket. I was instantly remorseful and panic-stricken.

What if she was not fat, but pregnant? What if I had injured her unborn but very-much-wanted child? What if I'd made it a mutant with bent appendages of one one kind or another?

This is what England has done to me.

You Made Me An Animal!!!

All the attitude drained out of me. I turned toward her to apologize; to see if there was anything I could do to help; to explain; to beg forgiveness; to promise to be a better person. But she didn't even seem to have noticed me (typical, I guess, now that I think about it) and didn't seem a bit concerned.

She wasn't -- as I feared she'd be -- holding her belly, wailing, "My baby!!!".

So, maybe she was just fat. Or maybe I hadn't collided as percussively as I might have. I do remember kind of holding back. I was only trying to make a point, after all.

I continued on my way, chagrined, unhappy with what I'd found inside myself, determined to be better.

But people won't get out of the way . . .