Pushin' My Buttons

Once.

Just once.

That’s the amount of times you need to hit the button on the street light to alert it there are people waiting to cross.

But does the Troglodyte who just rolled off the bus like the boulder at the beginning of Raiders hit it once?

No, she plays fucking the snare drum beat she learned from rewatching her favorite scene in Drumline 500 times.

"Half-time IS game-time."

What do you think happens when you do that? Do you think the computer program running ALL OF LOS ANGELES TRAFFIC comes to a halt? “Whoa, this woman on Wilshire and Westwood REALLY needs to cross the street in a hurry. We better get on this.”

"You may now cross. Also..what is feeling?"

No, you Morlock. Nothing happens. NOTHING. Did you not pick that up after the first 30 seconds of no change in the light while you were smacking the flat of your hand against that button like you had a bad case of palsy?

And then, at long last, the lights changed and that enmitious red hand turns into a nurturing white chalk outline—

--and you waddle through the crosswalk briskly to the soup kitchen you eat volunteer at. (I say briskly but we all know you only add a spring to your step when you’re 2 back in line at 10:28 and McDonald’s is about to stop serving breakfast coronary patties).

And here’s the worst part. The WORST.

You think it worked, don’t you? You think all that tap-tap-tapping, endless, ENDLESS TAPPING, is what actually caused the light to change allowing us to cross safely? Don’t you?

I almost wish I had your ignorance. What a mitzvah you think you must’ve just done for your fellow man.

But alas, I actually possess that 2% genetic disparity between myself and a monkey, and so I’m cursed to live my life knowing the difference between right and just plain god damn stupid.

"Hmm...maybe if I just KEEP hitting it...?"