The Nerve of People Being Nice

How DARE they! What is up with people bending over backward, twisting themselves into a pretzel, to pat themselves in the back for their NICENESS?

 

Okay. Maybe a few of them have the purest of intentions. Like myself, heh, heh, when I give a dollar to a 10:30 a.m. alcoholic without enough money for the smallest bottle of whiskey at the Gas Station Chicken Store, or a gal who was a few cents short for the cheapest vape at the Liquor Store. 

 

My problem yesterday was with a motorist who stopped dead in the drive lane of Save A Lot, to motion me across the road.

 

Here's the thing. I stepped out of T-Hoe, and was waiting for my knees to get their circulation going to minimize the stiffness from riding to town. Leaning against the side of T-Hoe, as I always do, until I felt safe to take some steps. BUT NO! Some Do-Goody-Four-Wheels had to hold up traffic until he caught my eye, and motion me across!

 

I was perfectly content to wait until the coast was clear, disrupting nobody's time. It was a sunny 83 degrees. It's not like rain was sluicing down, or an Alberta Clipper dropping the temperature like in that movie The Day After Tomorrow. 

 

Thanks to Do-Goody-Four-Wheels, I felt like I MUST cross the road right then. Hurriedly for me, because at my regular pace, I could imagine all the backed-up autos having their windows implode from the excessive intake of drivers' breath in order to sigh heavily. When I rush, I am not sure-footed. I fear that I may stub a toe and fall.

 

I do not like to be coerced into action to inflate someone else's sense of righteousness.

 

Yeah. I'm sure that driver was just being nice. He was probably a Boy Scout who helped old ladies across the road, whether they wanted to go or not.