ON SLUSH ETIQUETTE

with the storm of the century comes the slush of at least the decade.
one hundred thousand park slope toddlers descended on Prospect Park
and their two hundred thousand tiny rubber boots stamped the fluff into hard packed stuff.
similar aggression took place on the sidewalks and streets
(although nowhere near as dramatically).
but the result was the same.

a secondary sidewalk of ice coats the regular sidewalk,
and as the temperature flirts with the other side of 32
that secondary sidewalk begins to relent.
the main issue here is that

THIS CITY DOESN'T DRAIN.

the sewers are too jam packed full of human waste and human talent and human failure
(not to even mention the waste/talent/failure of animals and plants)
to accommodate such an influx of meltwater.
so what happens?

slush happens, baby.

at every intersection a baby pool of slush waits to squelch over the tops of your shoes
and soak your socks and dampen your already surly mood.
snowbanks render these pools - the only navigable way to cross the street, i'm afraid -
impassable by more than one person at a time.

[rule 1:]
the right-of-way is never clear, so it's safe to assume you never have it.

as commuters storm through the gap and splash cold water on you as you stand to the side
allowing them to pass
they scowl and grimace and trudge toward their trains - which...

HEY BUDDY IT'S GONNA BE DELAYED ANYWAY WHAT'S THE RUSH
WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE ANYWAY SO WHO THE HECK CARES IF YOU'RE
10 MINUTES LATE TO WORK...

while you stand out of the way and let the whole neighborhood pass
and your socks are soaked and it doesn't matter that you don't have anywhere to go
because you still feel your time is valuable and your feet are best served dry
and you start to get that twisted feeling in your gut because you feel like a scrooge
for hating all of humanity in that moment,

and this only worsens until the four-hundredth and final person walks past you,
splashes in the puddle
turns to see you
cold and wet and dejected and miffed by your own passivity
and says "sorry!"as they keep marching toward wherever.

and in that moment everything is okay.
because somebody in this god forsaken place understands slush etiquette.