Roundus Amongus

Up the stairs released from the subterranean bob-and-weave, I’m fresh off a middling six hours of sleep, trudging along. The sun leans between the buildings, stares squarely into my eyes. I squint like a motherfucker. I’m not in the hurriest of hurries, but still, I like to move at a good pace; even when I’m navigating against a wild rush of oncomers rolling shoulder to shoulder at least twelve deep.

I use the subway grates as an express lane. It eliminates the chicks with the shoes. Dodging his and her suits galore, my bags swing widely if I cut hard right or left. And I do. Smokers eye me as I maneuver circles around a fair portion of the commuters herding right at me. I think moo-ve when one clogs an opening or beats me to it.

I wade through the initial onrush catching a respite after reaching the second level. With a few more strides the stream switches and I’m walking with the flow of foot traffic and against the flow of car. I slash across the street at an available opening. I’m making solid time, nothing to write home about. Still, I’m always looking to steal a tenth of a second wherever I can. Often I can with a quick skip or a corner cut.

I use guile when walking to work. I tap into agility. I’ll lean into turns. I jut off the balls of my feet. I’m not O.J. in a Hertz commercial, but I have moves. Combine that with shiftiness and some yoga classes and you have yourself a professional marketer walking to work professionally. For that reason, I’m shocked that I’m consistently foiled by a waddling round person.

They appear like a chess piece suddenly dropped with expert precision. They waddle like a penguin sporting a winter coat. They are rotund and a tough pass. Their clothes are comfy and their shoes are of the good walking variety.

Roundus Amongus, they seem to damn the flow by forcing both directions of traffic on a collision course as we all try to pass. My pace is such that I’m on top of them before I can react. Braking like a speeding driver approaching a red light, a blink and I’m engulfed in back-flab, searching for an off ramp. This morning I tripped right over the top of the little waddler as she dodge my line of sight for just long enough to damn near cause a pile-up.

We walk in lock-step. I’m smushed into her back like Wile E Coyote sliding down a tunnel-painted rock wall. Peaking, I peer and crane my neck. Under the armpit, over the shoulder, I’m scouting opportunities like a model scout in a mall. I edge out to the right but scurry back like a prairie-dog with hawk-fear. We seep down the street trailing a molasses glaze. I escape to the left skirting a meat-filled arm. Quick choppy steps speed me around and one long stride leaves the waddler fading in the distance like an astronaut jettisoned from her ship. Freedom.

As if unified by army technology, another one crystallizes and plugs the traffic as I reach the corner. Like a robot dance party, we shimmy mechanically sorting out the congestion ourselves. The orderly interchange disperses as does the round person. Whoosh.

Long-striding, the foot-parade is thinner than Grandma’s hair as I approach the final leg of my trip. I can see down the long avenue to the horizon far in the distance. I can also see the unmistakable visage of yet another Roundus Amongus dawdling down the street. Like the Maverick on a mig, I have a bead on him half a block away.

Shoulders like ham hocks. Neck like an alligator. The fact that he can’t see behind him is as much a strength as a weakness. His arms rest on his side-boobs as if he was hiding a football in each armpit. His legs don’t bend as much as he tilts onto one side and rotates his hip-socket to move forward and his movement barely outpaces the earth’s rotation.

Like a stallion down the stretch, I’m getting the whip and storming the final furlong. I’m bearing down on the waddling wide-man like and officer in hot pursuit. A stride behind and I realize we’re fast approaching my building and my building’s entrance. I contemplate a pass around the wide side. I contemplate a sharp cut to the inside. My indecision costs me like a tell at the poker table. From full speed to full stop, my window of opportunity vanishes like sock in the dryer.

I call off the dogs and go into coast, positioned to the posterior of the round person. As I wait for him to pass, I realize he’s heading where I’m heading. We share a destination on this day if not most days. With a quick calculation, I think it’s worth the wait. I lay back and scope him work the revolving door. I’m early anyway.