The Stroller Rule

What I have determined after months of battling the Italian way of life is that you just have to know how the system works, and then life is infinitely easier. Take crossing the street, for example. For my first two months here I utilized the Stroller Rule: When the women with strollers cross the street, I cross the street (preferably with the stroller in between me and the oncoming traffic). I’ve found that this is the safest bet, though there is the occasional suicidal mother that darts in front of the screaming traffic, wielding her baby like a baseball bat. You would think that when the older people cross the street that it would be a safe time as well, but that is definitely a myth here. The elderly have nothing to lose, so they’re crazier than the rest (which is really saying something).

I still follow the Stroller Rule whenever possible, but there’s always the predicament of what to do when there are no strollers present. I always try to wait until there are no cars coming, but even then as soon as I hit the pavement a little Fiat will come racing towards me as if by magnetic pull. I swear they speed up for pedestrians, just to see if they can provoke noticeable signs of terror. The other day, after waiting for about 10 minutes to cross a busy intersection, I had a breakthrough: to cross the street in Italy, you have to be willing to die. I was so exasperated that I thought to myself “Cassie, you’ve led a decent, fulfilling life, so if you happen to get run over right now, it wouldn’t be that terrible.” After this realization, I stepped unflinchingly down onto the crosswalk and the most miraculous thing happened: the cars actually stopped to wait for me to cross! I couldn’t believe it. I felt like they must have sensed my new indifference towards life and slowed down, perhaps out of deference to my instability. Oh, mio Dio, I am becoming Italian.