The bristle end of the new broom was resting near my right shoulder and my right hand grasped the handle. We were granted a reprieve from the rain and, when the traffic signal flashed a white man at us, we began to cross the wet street.

A sleek, grey car boldly made a left turn at the moment the traffic light turned green. The driver hoped that he would complete the turn before opposing traffic rolled into the intersection. His efforts were foiled, though, by the pedestrians crossing the street.

The car lurched to a halt at the crosswalk. Pedestrians from both directions approached his car. Oncoming traffic swerved around the unmoving car, some honking their horns at the obstacle in their paths.

The driver’s (failed) intentions were clear. It also seemed obvious that the driver had tacitly agreed to pay penance for his efforts: He did not try to hasten his way across the sidewalk. He instead rested his head in his hand and waited for the pedestrians to cross. He also inched his car forward enough to minimize his obstruction of traffic.

I noted the situation and began to follow my sensibilities: I began to alter my path to walk behind the car. The sooner he got out of everyone’s way, the sooner traffic would flow, and the better off everyone would be.

The other pedestrians in the crosswalk, however, had other designs. And this is when I realized, yet again, that I am clearly not from New York.

One couple, a man and woman, was already shooting dirty looks at the driver. Both driver and passenger had their windows partially rolled down, which was an unfortunate choice. The couple slowed their pace and approached the driver’s window. The woman then coldly remarked, “You did the wrong thing.”

Meanwhile, I noticed The Beau peeling away from me. He then purposefully went out of his way to walk in front of the stalled car.

The couple then followed suit and walked in front of the car.

Not to be outdone, a pair of women behind the couple also approached the driver’s window. By now, the driver, whose car was still blocking traffic, was shaking his head and smiling uncomfortably. The older of the two women suddenly shouted at the driver, “YOU HEAR THAT? EVERYONE THINKS YOU’RE A F@#$ING IDIOT!”

By now, The Beau and I had reunited (I admittedly scampered in front of the car as well, given that this was the safer path to take). Several other people had taken to yelling at the driver for his indiscretion.

“Oh dear,” I commented.