After my first day at the office, it was of course mandatory to take Scott out to see the surrounding city and enjoy a nice meal. Scott had fear.
The conversation about this potential adventure was quick to dive to the roots of the issue: what and where? They suggested various exotic cuisines one after the other until they caved and said “we’ll take you someplace that has American food.” Score: Scott 1, Bangalore 0.
Next the “where.” I was somewhat anxious about being taken by car far enough out that it would be a long night. I’m a busy man, you see. I’ve got emails to read, spots to swat, that sort of thing. Fortunately they were of a similar mindset – we’d just walk to the chosen place. It was just a few minutes’ walk I’m told. Score: Scott 2, Bangalore 0.
So, exiting the office building, Bob heads toward a main street in front of the building. It is rush hour. Well, more so than normal. What this means that here we are standing at the edge of the street with cars, trucks, rickshaws, motorbikes, buses and bicycles all whizzing by as fast as the traffic will allow. That’s not like highway speeds – we’re talking 20-30 mph I’d guess. But the key here is that it is a never-ending flow. NEVER. Why is that? Well, because there are no traffic control devices anywhere within miles and there are 1.2 billion in line to go home.
Suddenly Bob steps forward. “No you fool, you’ll die!” is what begins to come from my fear-ridden mouth, until I quickly conclude that it is far more likely that he will in fact LIVE and I’ll be stuck here waiting for a break in traffic. “Go you fool, you’ll die!” I yell instead to myself, and quickly step forward with him. I have fear.
I also have brains, so I make sure that Bob is always positioned between me and on-coming traffic. Thank you Saddam Hussein for teaching me about the value of human shields.
For those reading this who grew up in the 80s, think “Frogger.” Only in this version you can’t go backwards, and worse, the attacking vehicles are not staying in lanes but all weaving in and out between and around themselves. It’s very clearly “move or die.”
I move.
Until we reach the median, which is basically a curb. Now we’re caught between traffic coming from both directions.
Having survived the first side, I feel fearfully confident. I feel the power of the Survivor. The Veteran.
I also feel the pressure of more and more people piling on this median. Once again, it’s move or die.
Looking into the headlights of the oncoming traffic, I look for opportunity. All of my senses are focused. Time slows down.
In the distance, a dog barks.
Bob steps out. “You f… ah what the hell,” I think and dive in after him.
The distance across, like the first, is only a mere 20-25 feet. Of course, that means an effective 4-5 “layers” of traffic flowing around me. Traffic which doesn’t slow when they see pedestrians, but just turn unpredictably. So of course, I’m keeping an eye on the oncoming traffic as well as Bob. Half way across reason asserts itself. Someone is coming. Someone in a vehicle. Coming fast. Collision will be imminent if I continue. There is but one logical course of action.
I stop.
Score: Bangalore 1, Scott 2. The crowd cheers.
A lack of situational awareness caused a failure of myself to realize that when Bob stepped out with me on his heels, so did 426 other people right behind me. Ever been behind one of those big dummies who get to the bottom of an escalator, step off and STOP? Ya.
Well I’m not slow to realize a mistake when there are 426 people behind me in peril and triple that number of oncoming chaos capable of causing me to break my skin on this road which I must say is far more hygienically threatening than American roads, which are already pretty dirty.
I move forward again. Motorcycles are swerving around me. Rickshaws are coming to a jerky stop in front of the parade I’m leading. Horns are honking (more than usual). Someone behind me steps on my heel, compressing the back of my shoe underneath my heel. I know better than to hop on one foot and fix it. Move or die.
Finally I make it to the other side. Where there is not so much a sidewalk but a curb and some dirt on the other side of it before you get to a fence that is obviously designed to keep the pedestrians inside this busy street. Where’s Bob?
Ah. Bob is walking into the flow of traffic on the side of the road. Not on the curb, not on the dirt. On the road. Once again, the human shield strategy is called for.
I am able to catch up. My shoe is still not quite right but I am still in the flow of people walking along the side of the road. The oncoming traffic responds by making sure they don’t get more than a few centimeters away from having a handlebar or side view mirror strike a pedestrian. As I catch up, I see a wonder. Bob is walking along into unavoidable death, looking down at this phone, scrolling through Facebook or the like.
I’m no veteran. I’m just a scared little American trying to stay alive long enough to flee back into the Mold and Mildew of familiarity and safety.
Several back streets similar to this followed by one more major street crossing gets us to the restaurant after about 10 minutes.
The restaurant doesn’t exactly have what I would have called American food, but it is close enough. I get myself a lamb burger.
The conversation about this potential adventure was quick to dive to the roots of the issue: what and where? They suggested various exotic cuisines one after the other until they caved and said “we’ll take you someplace that has American food.” Score: Scott 1, Bangalore 0.
Next the “where.” I was somewhat anxious about being taken by car far enough out that it would be a long night. I’m a busy man, you see. I’ve got emails to read, spots to swat, that sort of thing. Fortunately they were of a similar mindset – we’d just walk to the chosen place. It was just a few minutes’ walk I’m told. Score: Scott 2, Bangalore 0.
So, exiting the office building, Bob heads toward a main street in front of the building. It is rush hour. Well, more so than normal. What this means that here we are standing at the edge of the street with cars, trucks, rickshaws, motorbikes, buses and bicycles all whizzing by as fast as the traffic will allow. That’s not like highway speeds – we’re talking 20-30 mph I’d guess. But the key here is that it is a never-ending flow. NEVER. Why is that? Well, because there are no traffic control devices anywhere within miles and there are 1.2 billion in line to go home.
Suddenly Bob steps forward. “No you fool, you’ll die!” is what begins to come from my fear-ridden mouth, until I quickly conclude that it is far more likely that he will in fact LIVE and I’ll be stuck here waiting for a break in traffic. “Go you fool, you’ll die!” I yell instead to myself, and quickly step forward with him. I have fear.
I also have brains, so I make sure that Bob is always positioned between me and on-coming traffic. Thank you Saddam Hussein for teaching me about the value of human shields.
For those reading this who grew up in the 80s, think “Frogger.” Only in this version you can’t go backwards, and worse, the attacking vehicles are not staying in lanes but all weaving in and out between and around themselves. It’s very clearly “move or die.”
I move.
Until we reach the median, which is basically a curb. Now we’re caught between traffic coming from both directions.
Having survived the first side, I feel fearfully confident. I feel the power of the Survivor. The Veteran.
I also feel the pressure of more and more people piling on this median. Once again, it’s move or die.
Looking into the headlights of the oncoming traffic, I look for opportunity. All of my senses are focused. Time slows down.
In the distance, a dog barks.
Bob steps out. “You f… ah what the hell,” I think and dive in after him.
The distance across, like the first, is only a mere 20-25 feet. Of course, that means an effective 4-5 “layers” of traffic flowing around me. Traffic which doesn’t slow when they see pedestrians, but just turn unpredictably. So of course, I’m keeping an eye on the oncoming traffic as well as Bob. Half way across reason asserts itself. Someone is coming. Someone in a vehicle. Coming fast. Collision will be imminent if I continue. There is but one logical course of action.
I stop.
Score: Bangalore 1, Scott 2. The crowd cheers.
A lack of situational awareness caused a failure of myself to realize that when Bob stepped out with me on his heels, so did 426 other people right behind me. Ever been behind one of those big dummies who get to the bottom of an escalator, step off and STOP? Ya.
Well I’m not slow to realize a mistake when there are 426 people behind me in peril and triple that number of oncoming chaos capable of causing me to break my skin on this road which I must say is far more hygienically threatening than American roads, which are already pretty dirty.
I move forward again. Motorcycles are swerving around me. Rickshaws are coming to a jerky stop in front of the parade I’m leading. Horns are honking (more than usual). Someone behind me steps on my heel, compressing the back of my shoe underneath my heel. I know better than to hop on one foot and fix it. Move or die.
Finally I make it to the other side. Where there is not so much a sidewalk but a curb and some dirt on the other side of it before you get to a fence that is obviously designed to keep the pedestrians inside this busy street. Where’s Bob?
Ah. Bob is walking into the flow of traffic on the side of the road. Not on the curb, not on the dirt. On the road. Once again, the human shield strategy is called for.
I am able to catch up. My shoe is still not quite right but I am still in the flow of people walking along the side of the road. The oncoming traffic responds by making sure they don’t get more than a few centimeters away from having a handlebar or side view mirror strike a pedestrian. As I catch up, I see a wonder. Bob is walking along into unavoidable death, looking down at this phone, scrolling through Facebook or the like.
I’m no veteran. I’m just a scared little American trying to stay alive long enough to flee back into the Mold and Mildew of familiarity and safety.
Several back streets similar to this followed by one more major street crossing gets us to the restaurant after about 10 minutes.
The restaurant doesn’t exactly have what I would have called American food, but it is close enough. I get myself a lamb burger.
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