I could see the accident coming seconds before it happened.
Mr. I-Can’t-Believe-How-Cool-I-Am swaggered down the sidewalk, barely aware of everyone else on the sidewalk. His Armani suit marred only by the you-can-tell-I-have-an-iPod®-because-I’m-tethered-to-it-by-these-white-cords that hung unceremoniously over the lapels. His faux-hawk mullet looked grotesquely out of place on an otherwise well-dressed young man. His head was bent down as his thumbs worked furiously while texting.
Mr. You-Can-Tell-I’m-Blind-Because-Of-My-White-Cane was heading straight toward him. Everyone else respectfully yielded the sidewalk as he approached them. Everyone except Mr. ICBHCIA.
Suddenly, bam. Their shoulders collide, knocking each one off balance. Mr. ICBHCIA almost dropped his iPod®, and in the split second it took him to catch it, he became enraged.
“What’s wrong with you a**hole,” he screamed. “Are you blind?”
Everyone around them froze. And for a few moments, on a busy sidewalk in downtown
“I’m sorry, sir,” the blind man said quietly. “But yes, I am.”
In an instant, Mr. I-Can’t-Believe-How-Cool-I-Am suddenly became Mr. I-Can’t-Believe-What-An-A**hole-I-Am.
Sometimes, life’s ironies are too perfect.