Those of you who know me, know I love this city. There is no better place to live than New York. I haven’t lived anywhere else, but that’s neither here nor there. That being said, there are a lot of things that bug me about this city. See, the thing with a city like New York is, your main transportation is your feet. So walking is kind of an art in New York. Like how rigshawing is an art in China. Rigshawing? That can’t be the right way to say that? Anyway, here are the types of walkers I can’t stand.

The Floater

This monster is unavoidable. You are bound to see one around every corner, in every street alley, up every block. This human detour sign is there for one reason and one reason alone, to slow your ass down. In my experience if the Floater isn’t abnormally large or walking with some sort of an aid (like a cane, seeing dog, or annoying toddler) it‘s usually a middle age man or woman who is annoyed they can no longer collect welfare checks. Obama told these clowns to get a job. So they spend every moment going to work, returning from lunch, or taking a casual stroll taking as much time as possible. They spend so much time and energy on trying not work, that it actually becomes more exhausting than the work they would have done in that time. You don’t need to understand the rules to know them.

The Tag Team

This is basically two or more floaters walking together. The funny thing is more often than not The Tag Team when operating as independent entities walks at a fine, respectable pace. Put them together though and they feel like they need to savor every moment they have with each other. Hey, nobody cares if you’re on Team Edward or if you feel bad for Sandra Bullock. Pick up the pace.  At least with a floater you have a 50/50 shot of getting around them. The Tag Team? 99 times out of 100 you are stuck until a street corner. I don’t accept those odds. I have been known to run out in the middle of 6^th avenue to get around these gossiping slow pokes. I don’t advise that though. It took years of training and I still haven’t mastered the Chinese delivery boy on his mongoose bike with front and back pegs. Remember, Chinese food waits for no one.

The Scaffold Scaredy Cat

These are like the people that drive so fast they are about the travel back in time but when they see that 18 wheeler they hit the brakes so hard you can smell rubber. As soon as this guy gets under the scaffold it’s like they have to admire the artwork the construction worker with an 8^th grade education and 5^th grade sense of humor put on the wall. Get a life guy. It’s just boobs. Ha. I wrote boobs.

The Speed Racer

This cat moves at impossible speeds. I mean Usain Bolt would be impressed at how fast this guy moves. Weaving in and out of pedestrians, paying no attention to who he knocks over. Women, children, men with small builds. He will kick the walking stick of a blind man if it meant being on that N train platform before you. This sounds like someone I would enjoy right? Not slowing me down any. Wrong. See, I have an ego problem. Nobody, and I mean NOBODY can walk faster than me on the street. Usually, this isn’t a problem, but occasionally I meet up with a Speed Racer. Guess what guy? It’s on. You kick out a walking stick? I leap frog a lady riding a Rascal. There’s no stopping my competitive walking spirit. I’m not even taking the N train but I will swipe in with my metro card and hit that platform before you. Sometimes you got to kick a little ass to show the people in this city who’s the boss.

The Paparazzi

Hands down my most hated walker in the city. Repeat. MOST HATED. The odd thing is, if I wasn’t walking and I was just having a cold one at an outside café, I find these people hilarious. But when I’m trying to get somewhere, I hate these people with the fire of a thousand suns. Now, I’m not a racist, but I also know I am genetically not able to dunk a basketball. That being said, Paparazzi are always Asian. I don’t know what it is, but they need to take a picture with EVERYTHING. Sure, you see the naked cowboy, you may want to pose with him like you’re licking cream cheese off his abs. Fine, whatever. But the guy that sells knock off DVD’s on my block, trust me, he ain’t worth your time. So what if he sold you a copy of Hot Tub Time Machine in Swahili, he doesn’t need to be on your facebook page. So while I’m walking home from a long days work, don’t think I’m stopping to let you finish your photo. Enjoy tagging my right ear in your album. Jim Fenimore. Search for it on the book.