Please, Please Don’t Run Me Over

There is something in the water in Cambridge, Mass.

It is a hidden malady, barely perceptible to devoted day-trippers and us itinerant students. But it blights the lives of our permanent neighbors, who are not fortunate enough to be shielded by the motherly Harvard bubble. It makes car horns louder, brakes less effective, and everyone with a driver’s license forget chapters one through six of the Massachusetts Driver’s Manual. Its final symptom: an inexplicable and hell-bent desire to murder trepidatious pedestrians.

Thankfully, Cambridge Automotive Syndrome, or “awful driving,” as it is more commonly known, can be cured with a mere acknowledgement of the problem. I urge all those afflicted to take action with a simple series of steps.

First, drivers might consciously take a moment to look in the immediate path of their cars. Syndrome sufferers often find it irresistible to talk on their cell phones, munch on a sandwich from Whole Foods, or read the Communist Manifesto while tearing up Broadway at 40 miles per hour. I beg of you—fight the urge, lest you end up sending the next Karl Marx to University Health Services. Yes, it may be expected that we walkers look both ways before we cross, but the maddening preponderance of one-way streets in this city has lulled us into complacency.

Second, once you do notice us, kindly refrain from cutting off our path away from your frenetic domain. Crosswalks are not actually street art; we have a quaint custom in this state whereby both horse-drawn and horseless carriages must yield to the crossing foot soldier. There are few sadder sights in the Square than that of a lonely student waiting politely for a car to pause for him on Mass. Ave. At even such tender young ages, we are forced to become hardened kamikazes on every perilous trip to the Harvard Box Office.

Third, admit that red lights are there for a reason. Does the sign say “No Turn on Red?” Maybe it’s because of that line of high-schoolers coming home from Cambridge Rindge and Latin. Have patience; that right turn will still be there when the light is green.

Even worse, a left at a red light is not only grossly illegal and potentially lethal to pedestrians, but it may also metallically entangle you with a fellow road user. Even if you have no sense of self-preservation, the ensuing gaskets blown would doubtless be annoyingly disruptive to us students in the library.

One of the blessings associated with my secluded Union-dorm retreat (and, next year, my happy commute from the Quadrangle) is the chance to encounter so many of these hapless drivers several times per day. I have been behind the wheel in Philadelphia, New York City, and Boston, and Cantabridgians are the worst drivers I have had to deal with. Each offense they commit serves as a glaring reminder of this dubious distinction.

So, usually about three minutes into my walk, I am tempted to think of this condition as incurable. But truly learned Harvardians must never give up on those unluckier than us. The next time a Cambridge driver gestures monodigitally at you or runs over your toe, smile and wave. They might slow down to gawk at you just enough to get under the speed limit. What a difference you can make.



Nathaniel S. Rakich ’10, a Crimson editorial editor, lives in Greenough Hall.