Crosswalkavoiditis: The Slow-Speed Race For the Cure

There seems to be a new illness sweeping through the greater Backroads area. I'm not sure of its scientific moniker, but word on the street is that this affliction goes by the name of crosswalkavoiditis.

The sufferers of crosswalkavoiditis don't seem to suffer at all. No vomiting, no chills, no weakness. Just a spate of impaired judgment. In public. Patient zero has been traced to Lowe's.

That's right. Lowe's. In fact, the majority of people who come down with a bad case of crosswalkavoiditis catch it at Lowe's. The retailer can't be blamed. As many people have it going INTO the store as those who have it coming OUT.

Once a week, The Pony and I have a standing appointment in bill-paying town. As part of our route, we cross through the parking lot of Lowe's. Don't think this is like the people who cut through the parking lot of the drive-thru liquor store to avoid that red light. Nope. Val drives down a side street, makes right turn (not altogether voluntarily, but the alternative is to plow through a chain-link gate into the lumber stacks of Lowe's), then a left, to cruise across the front drive of Lowe's. At the other end, there's a STOP painted on the blacktop. Then the lot gives way to another side street.

EVERY time I pilot T-Hoe across the front drive of Lowe's, people step out in front of me. Let the record show that no fewer than FOUR crosswalks are painted in bright yellow spanning the entry area to the store and the parking spaces. Yet no human has EVER walked across a crosswalk while Val waited patiently for their trek. NO!

These folks can be strolling along, talking on a cell phone, chatting with a companion, doing absolutely nothing except concentrating on getting from here to there...when they suddenly dart out in front of Val like a squirrel nibbling a nut on the edge of the road darts in front of a speeding semi. It's like they can't help themselves. One moment they're doing their thing, appearing normal as all get-out, on their way to pick up a ceiling fan, or returning home with a bucket of paint to touch up the laundry room, when they lose their ever-lovin' minds. They look right at me. Our eyes meet through the lightly-tinted glass of T-Hoe's windows. AND THEY STEP OUT IN FRONT OF T-HOE'S BUMPER.

Let the record show that this initial dart is the fastest they move. Once their feet are in the roadway proper, those infected with crosswalkavoiditis seem to lose the will to move. They amble like zoned-out zombies. Never in a straight line. That's the fastest way between two points, you know. But people with crosswalkavoiditis coursing through their bodies can't fathom such a concept. They angulate. Meander from the lumber-loading dock to the main entrance area, all while shuffling at an arthritic grandpa's pace along the two lanes marked off for vehicular traffic.

It has gotten to the point where I tell The Pony, "Watch this one. Wait for it. We're almost to him...SEE! What in the not-heaven is WRONG with people? He saw me. He looked at the crosswalk. AND HE WALKED RIGHT OUT IN FRONT OF ME! Now we have to follow him until he decides what aisle the left his car in. Great. Two more. Look at them, in that concrete-block-and-yard-timber corral, by the riding mowers. Get ready...almost...I TOLD YOU! Look at them! It's like they were waiting for me to make their move!"

Something must be done about this infuriating illness. A telethon, a door-to-door collection, Marlo Thomas hosting a two-hour infomercial and sending out return address labels for the cause...anything.

Perhaps Lowe's should paint their crosswalks wider. The folks at Walmart seem to be immune. Or the drivers more menacing.