I think of myself as pretty subdued, I try not to let the little things bother me – and it probably sounds somewhat incongruous of me to say so in a column that exists solely for lashing out on objects or people of my condemnation. But I won’t get mad if you forget my name, eat the rest of my Chex Mix, or hit on my sister. Just as long as you’re not Ben Affleck. I hate that fucker. If you do, I’ll simply tell you again louder, buy another bag, or chuckle as my sister denies you and my brother-in-law pummels you.

Yet there’s one thing that infuriates me on a daily basis, and I’m sure anyone else living in New York can relate. That’s because we’re all pedestrians. Our feet are our primal mode of transportation – it’s really a contemporary concept. Yet sometimes other pedestrians disguised as drivers, hiding behind tinted windshields or fuzzy dice, show no regard for our union.

So here’s the scenario: Bo knows this, and Bo knows that… ooops, sorry, sometimes it’s just unavoidable. Anyway, so you’re walking through the city, studiously navigating your way through the crowds while fervently trying to maintain your current pace to get to work on time. You approach an intersection to cross. You have the right of way. The “Walk” sign is lit and the little stick man in the box is motivating you. Cross, damnit, cross. You proceed across the street as a car begins to make a turn perpendicular to you.

Your first thought? You have the right of way. You’re a pedestrian after all, with a god-given right to advance to Go before all others, well, as long as the little man is egging you on. But Fucker in the Ford is on pace to cut you off, and clearly challenging you. What do you do? I guess it’s always been a pride issue for me, but I try to never back down. I have to cease, however, more so than I’d like to admit, mainly because of the maniacal motorists that wouldn’t hesitate to run me over.

I’ve explored many options in my continual attempts to combat such vehicular aggression. I always wish I had eggs handy when drivers do cut me off, but realize soon after that it would probably be counterproductive, considering the likely pocket breakage versus usage. I’ve given many a middle finger, but flipping the bird isn’t all that effective. Have you ever actually been offended or traumatized by someone giving you the finger?

Try slapping or kicking, these are probably the most efficient methods. Or using dull weapons – last week I happened to be carrying a small bottle of Poland Spring when a car cut me off, and I’m sure the hard couple of jabs I landed against the window jolted them a bit. Slapping the windshield real is hard fun too, and a lot less painful than kicking the car. But if you’re going to kick, don’t hold back. A couple broken toes would pale in comparison to the statement you’re making. We’re not going to deal with that shit.

Discourteous Drivers, Kevlar says, are bad.

Kevlar