It was a lovely early autumn afternoon when an auburn-haired woman in a blue minivan made a very small miscalculation. It was to provoke a prolonged and bizarre series of silent interactions. She had arrived at an intersection in Friendship Heights, and had signaled her intention to turn right. It so happened that the front of her vehicle covered roughly half of the crosswalk. Perhaps she had thought she could catch the last of the yellow light, and hadn’t made it; in any case, she was now stuck in a position that partially obscured the zebra markings showing where pedestrians are supposed to cross.
Traffic was surging along Wisconsin Avenue in front of her, so she couldn’t go forward. Cars had quickly filled in behind her, so she couldn’t reverse. The woman looked out at the waiting pedestrians (I was among them) and, smiling, made a helpless I’m-sorry face.
