Luck o' the Irish

Crosswalks are starting to get a little ridiculous. I remember back in the day when you pushed a tiny button and waited for the hand to turn into the walking guy. That was it. Easy as pie. These days you get all sorts of countdowns and flashing lights and irritating pips (those are for blind people though, so that's okay), but this, friends, is the last straw.

On St. Patty's Day, I came face to face with the most ridiculously aggravating crosswalk ever. I was making my way downtown after work and tiredly leaned on the "I would like to cross, please" button. I waited. And waited. And waited some more. I pressed the button again. Still nothing. I stepped to the curb, looked both ways, and started crossing. I hadn't even touched the pavement before a voice from the crosswalk button yelled, "WAIT!"

I pivoted and glared at the box.  

How did you do that? I wondered, and walked back to investigate. Thinking that perhaps a motion sensor was in play, I waved my hand in front of the box. Nothing. I started walking away again and was accosted with another "WAIT!"

Now it was just taunting me.

What the hell, crosswalk box? What is your problem? No answer. I turned.

"WAIT! WAIT! WAIT!"  

All right, all right, just shut up!! I'm waiting. God. 

I swear it was smirking at me. After another few seconds, I saw that the stoplight was turning yellow. Finally, I thought. It is about freaking time.

The little walking guy appeared, and I started across the street, secure in the fact that I would never have to deal with the crosswalk from hell again.

"HEY!" it said. "THE WALK LIGHT IS ON."

You win this time, crosswalk box. You win this time.