I was informed by my brother that the brief story I will now tell you doesn't sound real. I've mentioned before that if you thought it was too ridiculous to be real, it happens in Italy, and this latest one is no exception. In my opinion, the hardest part to believe is probably the next sentence I'm going to write.
About a week ago, Jenna and I were out for a jog.
We were on our way back to the apartment on the same route as always and we were just coming up to a crosswalk. It's a weird intersection where it doesn't seem that anyone actually has a stop-sign, but the two intersecting streets are both one-way, so it's not quite as dangerous as it could be in the states. We were coming jogging across the crosswalk and there was a car parked near the curb and kind of hanging-over into the crosswalk (an illegal parking job, if those exist in Italy - this is a country where cars regularly drive down the sidewalk to find the right parking spot). It actually appeared that the car had started to back up a little, then stopped again.
At this point there was also a female coming around the car to cross the street and it was clear I'd have to squeeze between her and the car or she'd have to squeeze between me and the car. As we drew near in this interaction that happens thousands of times every day all over the world, something was a little different. I squeezed toward the car...and the car inched backwards.
The jackass in the car decided this was his perfect chance to continue inching back to pull out of his parking spot instead of waiting literally one more second, at which point we'd be back on the sidewalk. A hard "thud" sound came out when my elbow whacked against something on the back of the car. I'm not sure if it was the rear windshield wiper or just the windshield itself - it seemed like something was protruding but I could be wrong.
A moment later the horn started blaring as if to say "How could you be so stupid to run into my car that's backing up?!" I threw my arm in the air out of frustration, although not as convincingly as an Italian might, and we just kept jogging.
Within about fifteen seconds, or when we were about halfway to the next (small-block) street, a car pulled to the intersection in front of us and stopped. Sure enough, same car. Promptly, the driver got out of the car. First of all, I have no idea how this guy got around the block so fast. Second of all, what the hell is he about to say?
Head-shaking, I insisted on just continuing to jog until we got up close to the car. He was staring for the entire time we were coming up toward him and had walked around the car to be on our side (he was going left to right from our perspective and walked around to the passenger side in order to properly get mad at me for being hit by his moving car, in a crosswalk). He started talking just before we were in speaking distance, and then continued as we were close enough to hear him.
I don't know a lot of Italian, but I expected to get a few words of whatever he was saying. Instead, I understood virtually none of it. He definitely didn't say "why did you hit my car?" and he definitely didn't say "are you OK?" so I did the only thing I could think to do.
"No parlo l'italiano." and kept jogging. He didn't look happy, but he also didn't really argue. As we were probably out of earshot, I also shouted back "also, crosswalk!"
I'm sure he didn't hear it, and if he did, it wouldn't have mattered anyway, but it made me feel better.
This is Italy.
About a week ago, Jenna and I were out for a jog.
We were on our way back to the apartment on the same route as always and we were just coming up to a crosswalk. It's a weird intersection where it doesn't seem that anyone actually has a stop-sign, but the two intersecting streets are both one-way, so it's not quite as dangerous as it could be in the states. We were coming jogging across the crosswalk and there was a car parked near the curb and kind of hanging-over into the crosswalk (an illegal parking job, if those exist in Italy - this is a country where cars regularly drive down the sidewalk to find the right parking spot). It actually appeared that the car had started to back up a little, then stopped again.
At this point there was also a female coming around the car to cross the street and it was clear I'd have to squeeze between her and the car or she'd have to squeeze between me and the car. As we drew near in this interaction that happens thousands of times every day all over the world, something was a little different. I squeezed toward the car...and the car inched backwards.
The jackass in the car decided this was his perfect chance to continue inching back to pull out of his parking spot instead of waiting literally one more second, at which point we'd be back on the sidewalk. A hard "thud" sound came out when my elbow whacked against something on the back of the car. I'm not sure if it was the rear windshield wiper or just the windshield itself - it seemed like something was protruding but I could be wrong.
A moment later the horn started blaring as if to say "How could you be so stupid to run into my car that's backing up?!" I threw my arm in the air out of frustration, although not as convincingly as an Italian might, and we just kept jogging.
Within about fifteen seconds, or when we were about halfway to the next (small-block) street, a car pulled to the intersection in front of us and stopped. Sure enough, same car. Promptly, the driver got out of the car. First of all, I have no idea how this guy got around the block so fast. Second of all, what the hell is he about to say?
Head-shaking, I insisted on just continuing to jog until we got up close to the car. He was staring for the entire time we were coming up toward him and had walked around the car to be on our side (he was going left to right from our perspective and walked around to the passenger side in order to properly get mad at me for being hit by his moving car, in a crosswalk). He started talking just before we were in speaking distance, and then continued as we were close enough to hear him.
I don't know a lot of Italian, but I expected to get a few words of whatever he was saying. Instead, I understood virtually none of it. He definitely didn't say "why did you hit my car?" and he definitely didn't say "are you OK?" so I did the only thing I could think to do.
"No parlo l'italiano." and kept jogging. He didn't look happy, but he also didn't really argue. As we were probably out of earshot, I also shouted back "also, crosswalk!"
I'm sure he didn't hear it, and if he did, it wouldn't have mattered anyway, but it made me feel better.
This is Italy.
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