I walk to a nearby Smith’s for foodstuffs at the beginning of each week — I get stuff for lunch, and wholesome snacks like cheese sticks, yogurt, and almonds (albeit of the dark chocolate-roasted variety). Those who’ve walked with me before (might) know that I tend to walk at a very brisk pace: I’ve been using my feet for transportation, long-distance or otherwise, for a long time. Yesterday was no exception.

I’m occasionally irritated by people who don’t know the rules of the road: they walk in the middle of the sidewalk so no one can pass them, they careen back and forth, and they simply ignore people trying to walk around them, forcing the faster pedestrian to blaze a new trail to circumvent the obstacle. Me, I mean — when I say “the faster pedestrian,” I mean me, of course. I walk fast. How flagrantly purple of me.

Anyway, yesterday I found myself walking along behind an elderly man in an electric wheelchair, who was keeping a decent pace. I didn’t feel any real need to pass him, but I overtook him at a crosswalk anyway, which isn’t unusual. I could still hear him buzzing along in my blind spot, so I left a wide enough berth for him, should he want to pass me, and he overtook me at the next crosswalk.

We exchanged grins, and he zoomed forward in his electric wheelchair, reaching Smith’s well ahead of me while whistling a cheerful tune. It was awesome.