Pushing Thirty

     That’s Boston.  I was born here.  I’ve never lived more than a fifteen minute drive from the city limits.  And I couldn’t be happier about that fact.  I love this city more than I let on.  But it is it’s own little world, and we are our own set of people, we the Bostonians.  So there’s a few things you should know.  This will be expanding rapidly, so pretty soon, you’ll be one of us….

The First Thing You Need To Know About Bostonians

     There is no such thing as “jay-walking” to a Bostonian.  There is only the proper way to cross a city street.

     Every play Frogger?  Yeah…. There is something about Bostonians which makes us learn from a very early age that the right way to cross a street is not to wait for a light, not to wait for a sizable clearing in the traffic flow, but to carefully calculate the precise speed of each car barreling our way, and then walk, as if nothing is the matter, through the traffic, letting one car pass behind you as you move into the spot just occupied by the car going forty in the lane you’re entering.  If you’re really good you don’t even have to stop at the street corner, you can plan your path as you approach and nonchalantly cheat death…. again….  Don’t worry, the drivers expect it.

     How bad is this phenomenon?  No joke, come to Boston and you’ll see this scenario played out if you keep your eyes open.  Your average young starry eyed couple is on a date.  Watch how they cross the next street you all come to and you will be able to tell who is from where.  If neither of them looks up, and arms around each other make it through six lanes of traffic going both directions without changing pace or missing a step, they’re both from Boston.  If he keeps walking, not looking back to see if she stopped or is still next to him, reaches the other side, and then turns around to yell taunts and jabs across the passing cars, he’s from Boston and she is not.  If she keeps walking, not looking back to see if he stopped or is still next to her, reaches the other side, and then turns around to yell a slew of profanities you swore could come from only a sailor, mixed with taunts and jabs across the passing cars, she’s from Boston and he is not.

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