It is the season of the bad walker in Dublin. We’re in the late November to December danger period where the urge to tap people on the back of the shoulder and yell at them for their poor pedestrian behaviour is strong. Verbally abusing strangers is a nifty way to get yourself deported, so there’s a high degree of risk involved in leaving the house these days.
My emotional instability aside, how did we become, as a people, bad at walking? Bad walking by the way is not walking slowly, because it is difficult to do so. Bad walking is not using a frame or a cane or a wheelchair. It is not an older or pregnant person who might need a few extra minutes to cross a road or who needs to stop on the footpath for a rest briefly. Bad walking is defined by attitude, not ability. They’re the folk who can walk at any pace they choose, but create traffic jams behind them by slowing down to text and walk at the same time. People who are well able but just arseh***s when it comes to being a pedestrian.
Maybe I am crankier about walking than others because it is my main mode of transport
When I’m finally allowed to rule the world – or even Dublin (some people consider these interchangeable) – I will bring in a licensing system for pedestrians. We will all attend a half-day seminar where we will practise being good pedestrians before being allowed on to the streets for a supervised test. Applicants will be failed instantly for infractions like walking so closely behind someone that you stand on the back of their shoe, causing their heel to pop out mid-step and them to hop around in an undignified manner until they have got the shoe back on.
Another black mark will be walking in a large group fanned out across the footpath so that no one can overtake. Worse, your greed for path means someone coming the other way has to step into the road and into potential danger. And for what? So you could carry on talking about the merits of Dunnes vs SuperValu mince pies to each other’s big stupid faces? No. You’re barred.
One of the hardest parts of the test will be walking through a shopping district at Christmas. There are windows full of gorgeous bits, there’s the added challenge of twinkly light displays overhead and a busker singing Adele. You’re with your mum, she’s pointing at the sale sign in the L’Occitane shop. There’s so much to look at. What do you do? WHAT DO YOU DO? Think! REMEMBER YOUR TRAINING!
Not getting enough space on the path might seem like a petty gripe, but we're mid-pandemic with rising case numbers of a virus that seems to like close contact
“I just stop, bang in the middle of the path and let people fantasise about punching me in the back of the head as they squeeze together during a pandemic to get past me?”
“NO, Smith, what’s your answer?”
“Um, we pull to the side of the walkway to look in the window in our own time without inconveniencing others? Then I tell Mam that no one wants hand cream for Christmas.”
“FULL MARKS.”
Maybe I am crankier about walking than others because it is my main mode of transport. For all my adult life I have been a city dweller. One of the reasons for this is that I like to step out of my door, walk for 15 to 30 minutes and be where I have to be with minimal fuss. I don’t have to look for car keys or worry about the car not starting. The best part is I don’t have to park the thing. I don’t have to worry about which car park is a rip-off. I don’t have to plan beyond picking a podcast for the stroll.
For me the path demands the same respect as the road. If you wouldn’t stop in the middle of the road to look at something, don’t do it on the sidewalk. Don’t pull out your phone. You can’t text and walk at the same time. Just pull over to the side. If you see another car coming down a narrow road do you charge ahead and push them off? No? You pull over and let them pass? Then do that on the path. If you drive a big car do you ram it into a smaller car on the road? Or do you make space so both pass? In the past week I’ve been shoulder charged twice by broad men on city footpaths. Even after I performed the courteous shoulder twist, turning my body to the side as I tried to get past. They either didn’t see me coming or didn’t care.
And remember I have it easy. While there seems to be no correct side of the path to walk on in Dublin (it’s the left and we’re having a referendum on it if we have to), at least the path is accessible to me. This is not the case for others living with a disability. God knows the crap they have to put up with from us, uneven concrete and blocked pathways included. Not getting enough space on the path might seem like a petty gripe, but we’re mid-pandemic with rising case numbers of a virus that seems to like close contact. Let’s keep ourselves safe (and to the left).