I'm standing on the edge of the Green across the street from the Hop. Stretching out before me in frayed white paint is the crosswalk, that pedestrian haven, that relaxing free zone, assuring me that although I am crossing a well-trafficked street right now, I can still continue at my leisurely collegiate pace without fear of automotive onslaught. The crosswalk reminds me that this is Hanover, New Hampshire, a peaceful New England town, a sleepy hollow without the rush, stress, or hostility so often found in gridlocked urban environments. "Worry not," says the crosswalk. "Walk as you please, because the cars will stop."
Or at least that's what it used to mean. Not anymore. These days the streets of Hanover are shaping up like a real-life enactment of "Frogger." Maybe I'm paranoid, but lately it seems that many drivers have stopped stopping, as if we pedestrians are disrupting the flow of traffic with our ill-located campus. Even when drivers do condescend to stop, they look at me as I'm some sickly vagabond who's just asked for spare change to buy more crack for my leprous dog. It's psychological warfare, me against the driver -- which is more intense, my stare or his still-revving engine? Most of the time I win, but only because the driver's only other choice is vehicular homicide. My life has been spared, and of course I appreciate this, but I can't help being upset -- last-second braking, even at slow speeds, is a little unsettling.
The worst part, though, is the look I get afterwards. "You filthy pedestrian," their burning eyes seem to say. "Just whose street do you think this is? This isn't kindergarten and there ain't no crossing guard. This the Hanover Autobahn, my friend, and I'm Mario Andretti of the Great White North out to break the land-speed record in my 3000TurboXZ Supersonic Death Machine!"
Why are people driving so fast in Hanover? Taking into account the number of emergency situations one would expect in a town of Hanover's size and industry, one still finds far too many drivers in a hurry. Just where are they all rushing to in the Upper Valley at 2 p.m. on a Wednesday? And I know that the good citizens of Hanover are not always the most vicious drivers; many times when I look through that windshield my gaze is returned by a fellow student.
Yes, students are driving cars too, and they're out there, tense, staring me down, gunning that .38-caliber Ford Explorer engine while I meekly stumble through the snow. People in a hurry to get to De N' Ro's, I guess, or that swank off-campus party on East South Street.
Upon entering Hanover you may have noticed signs proclaiming that drivers must always stop for pedestrians, regardless of whether there's a crosswalk nearby. Yeah right. In the crosswalk I've at least got some visual justification for my mid-street presence; to the 8 p.m. driver cruising down Lebanon Street I'm pretty much the deer caught in the headlights.
It wasn't always this way. There was a time when the pedestrians and drivers of Hanover lived in perfect harmony. I can remember smiling drivers, golden sunshine reflected in their eyes, only too happy to stop and wait as I strolled across the shimmering street. Elves and fairies sang my praise and danced joyously about me, throwing rose petals in my path, while in the azure sky a rainbow -- well, I might be romanticizing a bit. Nevertheless the drivers were slower and a good deal more polite.
This whole situation has made me reconsider my most treasured intra-campus routes. Collis breakfast before 10 o'clock phys ed? No more. A little reserve reading before taking in the latest Spike Lee film in Spaulding? Not likely. I have a friend in Topliff I haven't seen since registration. Quite frankly, sometimes I'm afraid to leave the Green.
The truth is, I know what it's like on the other side. My sophomore year I spent a term delivering food for Panda House. I drove these streets, and I know that pedestrians can be lackadaisical sometimes, acting as if they own the town.
These roads are for us to share. Who knows? Maybe the College will build us a bridge from Baker Tower to the Hopkins Center, but I'm skeptical. Until then perhaps pedestrians and drivers could call a truce: we'll promise to walk briskly across the street when given the chance, and they'll promise to stop threatening us with murder. Seems fair to me.
