Synchronicity
Twice a week, a water ballet takes place in the street in front of my apartment.
Not quite ballet. More like synchronized parking. And there’s no water, either, save for frozen puddles and remnants of snow.
Through some benevolent anomaly—does some powerful city official live on the block?—alternate-side rules prohibit parking for only a half hour, from 8 to 8:30am, on Mondays and Thursdays.
Twice a week, the residents of the street get into their cars and start their engines. And sit. They wait, some sipping coffee or reading the paper, periodically looking into their rear-view mirrors.
Uninitiated outsiders pull up and tap their horns, signifying "Are you pulling out?" Occasionally they will shrug and raise their eyebrows and sometimes lip-synch the words, silently shouting: "ARE YOU PULLING OUT?"
No such luck.
If all goes according to plan, at around 8:15 the street sweeper appears in the distance and cues the corps de ballet. It’s a simple, yet elegant dance: the entire row of drivers pulls out from the right side of the street and glides diagonally to the left.
The sweeper passes, and the row backs into place, as one.
If all does not go according to plan, it can be because the driver of an oil truck has chosen 8:10am to fill someone’s furnace in the middle of the block, making it impossible for a school bus to pass, backing up traffic for the entire length of the block and thereby foiling this elegant piece of collaborative vehicular choreography.
It’s enough to rattle a driver—or, more accurately, a parker—into forgetting that the passing of the street sweeper does not signal that it is time to get on with one’s day. Thank you to the Russian in the SUV who called out, "Not to leave car before 8:30! Traffic cop still comes and gives you ticket."
Not quite ballet. More like synchronized parking. And there’s no water, either, save for frozen puddles and remnants of snow.
Through some benevolent anomaly—does some powerful city official live on the block?—alternate-side rules prohibit parking for only a half hour, from 8 to 8:30am, on Mondays and Thursdays.
Twice a week, the residents of the street get into their cars and start their engines. And sit. They wait, some sipping coffee or reading the paper, periodically looking into their rear-view mirrors.
Uninitiated outsiders pull up and tap their horns, signifying "Are you pulling out?" Occasionally they will shrug and raise their eyebrows and sometimes lip-synch the words, silently shouting: "ARE YOU PULLING OUT?"
No such luck.
If all goes according to plan, at around 8:15 the street sweeper appears in the distance and cues the corps de ballet. It’s a simple, yet elegant dance: the entire row of drivers pulls out from the right side of the street and glides diagonally to the left.
The sweeper passes, and the row backs into place, as one.
If all does not go according to plan, it can be because the driver of an oil truck has chosen 8:10am to fill someone’s furnace in the middle of the block, making it impossible for a school bus to pass, backing up traffic for the entire length of the block and thereby foiling this elegant piece of collaborative vehicular choreography.
It’s enough to rattle a driver—or, more accurately, a parker—into forgetting that the passing of the street sweeper does not signal that it is time to get on with one’s day. Thank you to the Russian in the SUV who called out, "Not to leave car before 8:30! Traffic cop still comes and gives you ticket."
posted by DO at 9:25 AM
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