City streets no walk in the park

Michael Carroll

is a freelance writer

in Philadelphia

Walking city streets can be serious business. It's not always easy to figure out the rules and the players. I am not even talking about tough neighborhoods where a wrong move can be seen as weakness or disrespect and can get you hurt.

I am talking about neutral turf, Center City. Everybody from every neighborhood owns it and has a right to be there. There is no official playbook, no Marquess of Queensberry rules, but there are unwritten rules that govern expectations and regulate intended and unintended messages sent and received.

One kind of walker is the guy who does not give an inch of sidewalk even if it kills him. Once, you could spot him because of his tattoos, but everybody has tattoos now. A finely executed one might increase the odds that the wearer is not a threat. Poor-quality, home-done, or jailhouse tattoos are more likely worn by someone you want to give room. Smeared tats done with Bic pens and needles can be a yellow caution light or even a red light. If a guy has tattoos on his face, high quality or low - unless he is an aboriginal visitor - keep walking.

A less-threatening walker is the sweet young thing. People step aside for her. A variation on the sweet young thing is the babe. Walkers make a path for her, and she expects it. You can identify a babe by the way others stare at her. Another way to ID her is to see whether she is looking at her reflection in store windows. If she is watching others admire her, she is probably a babe.

There is also the old thing, sweet or sour, male or female. Natural gray hair is an identifier. Oldsters can also wear unnaturally dyed jet-black hair, Martian flaming-red hair, bleached-out blond, silver, and even otherworldly blue hair. Slow locomotion is often a hallmark of the old. If the walking public will not make way for old people, society is in trouble. Nevertheless, some would-be tough guys are quite willing to roll over the elderly. (You can also substitute physically disabled for old as a test of the social fabric.)

From time to time, you may share the sidewalk with a mentally disturbed person. Others, whether from fear of violence, fear of hassle, or just fear, make way for them. There was a time when there were more clues to identify them. For example, they often talked to themselves. This clue has gone the way of the tattoo in diminished usefulness. Lots of people now appear to be talking to themselves, but they are really talking to others through electronic devices.

Hot, humid weather can affect the streets and sidewalks of the city. Even the meek sometimes slip into a "won't back down/stand my ground" mode - aggressive and crazed with 98-degree, high-humidity weather. Hot-weather street psychosis is something every walker should be on guard for, especially in a state where gun permits are easier to get than driver's licenses.

Hot weather often causes people to wear less clothing and expose more flesh. This can heighten the sweet young thing and babe effect but can also create unpleasant physical sights, like the six-pack syndrome.

Some males magically see a flat stomach where there is actually a belt-riding gut. What was once a figurative six-pack in the rippling muscular sense is now a very real fat stomach grown by many six-packs of beer. The wearers and bearers may be frozen in a more fit time, but everyone else is watching the owner of a 6-months-pregnant-looking stomach sporting a cutoff T-shirt.

On the other end of the sartorial spectrum are the power suits. Sometimes, they walk three abreast. They may even smoke big cigars with large, colorful bands slipped around them. They expect people to move for them but usually will veer out of the way to avoid a collision. Even if they have been building muscles at the gym and attending health-club boot camp, they do not want to get dirty scuffling for sidewalk.

Finally, remember that this city has grown more diverse in recent decades and stronger and better because of it. We are supposed to be in the post-racial era and have moved on since the bad old days, but, alas, race may still sometimes matter. The person bumping into you may see you but may also see generations of you. Antennae go up. Childhood lessons and experiences good and bad flood back. Don't be a jerk. We live in a great city. Let's act like it.

Enjoy the walk.