FONTANA: Wild wild walking

The streets of our humble city of Boston, although generally devoid of gangs, crime and ice cream trucks (all the truly scary things in life) are now occupied by an even greater threat: cell phone texting, iPod listening, umbrella toting, sunglasses wearing, completely ignorant college students. And this infestation has yet to reach the limit of its madness. It’s like we are living in the Wild Wild West, yet in our town, even the tumbleweed has trouble rolling down the street.

While I myself was once one of these pests, due to a series of fortunate events (radioactive spider, biting hand, awesome superpowers) my eyes have been opened to our horrible predicament. Now I’m just your friendly neighborhood Spiderman calling for some law and order to be brought down upon our troubled streets. Most notably in the highly coveted, famously pursued field of street etiquette.

I’m certainly not an expert myself but it would seem that my fellow Bostonians and I could use some pointers on this pretty basic subject. I’m not talking about advance quantum theory of physics. It’s more like How to Breathe 101. While walking may not come naturally at birth, there are very few toddlers who can’t stand on two feet and take a few steps. Granted, a toddler has every right to walk where it wants. In its head, it’s supreme ruler, king and emperor of all unexplored and conquered lands. So to all you baby geniuses, I hereby find you exempt from this etiquette. As for everyone else, listen up: you may think you can talk the talk, but are you sure that you can walk the walk?

Ever since winter’s rolled around, when I go to class I feel like I’m walking into an oncoming school of trout that are all in a rush to get to the bathroom. This isn’t the animal kingdom! I didn’t sign up for a Disney interactive experience and I’m certainly not studying marine biology. And walking on the sidewalk under normal conditions is bad enough, but weather apparently destroys all operating systems of the human brain, sending the sidewalk into pure medieval pandemonium: man bumping into man, woman and children falling into puddles…it’s not a pretty sight.

So while we may have to swim to class on those rainy days, I expect people to retain some shred of their humanity. It’s bad enough trying to make sure I’m not decapitated by the sudden onslaught of umbrellas. I’m not paying tuition here at Boston University so I can start an early career as the headless horseman. That’s not a track that’s offered on my degree.

Do we need street signs for people now too? “Merge left, NOW!” Keep right to avoid the ultimate death and pain of a head on collision.” “Yield, fool.” “Are you stupid? Because you’re going the wrong way.” You know, just some basic words of advice for any modern traveler.

And don’t think this is an issue of street cred. I certainly don’t own the sidewalk. But then again, neither do you. So  I don’t care who you are: I don’t care if you’re the pope, I don’t care if you’ve shanked the pope, or if you’re a freaking god. When you’re walking on the sidewalk, you’ve got to follow some rules.

We’re all adults here (even if our maturity sometimes fails to reflect that fact) and most of us have passed some form of driver’s education. When you’re in a car, you don’t just drive on the left side of the street because there’s a puddle on the right or because you feel like doing it. You stay on your side…so you don’t die. Funny how the possibility of death so heavily motivates us, right?

In the case that this message falls on deaf ears, or ears so lost within the musical wonderland of Bose headphones that my message disappears, I am well prepared to take one for the team. If need be, I will happily kill everyone. Now, I hope you don’t take this as a threat. View it more as a public service announcement. But if you do ignore this text, hang up on this call or pretend that you don’t have a cell phone, then I’d like to you wish you the best of luck and say arrivederci.

Because I think it’s time to start over: release the incurable swine flu, set off a nuclear bomb, have God rain down upon the earth with fire, tear an even bigger hole in the ozone layer, or simply call up some of E.T.’s disgruntled relatives. I’m sure they would have a field day taking apart our messed up brains. At least when he phoned home, he used a bicycle.

David Fontana is a sophomore at the College of Arts and Sciences and a weekly columnist for The Daily Free Press. He can be reached at fontad5@bu.edu.