The Death of Peripheral Vision

I usually do not go anywhere near 42nd Street and Broadway on a Saturday afternoon, because I am not a fool, and don't wish to enjoy the sensation of being in a packed, rush-hour Lexington Avenue subway car while remaining above ground. But a Theatre Row matinee compelled me to traverse this gauntlet the other day, and it was an object lesson in the myopic, monstrous selfishness that now possesses the average tourist.

Tourists no long move slowly in Time Square. They don't move at all! They stand stock still and stare up, like they're at a museum. The Museum of the Working City. They approach the lip of the curb on the southeast corner of 42nd and Seventh, with a walk sign beckoning, and halt. Dozens of them, happily at stasis. No cow in a pasture was ever so unmovable.

So, let me add this to the endless list of modern societal maladies that blight our thoughtless and rude culture: the death of peripheral vision. Due to the overuse of cell phones and i-pods and whatever other gadgets that help us created our own little, self-sustaining personal environment, your average citizen has no idea there are other people in his or her vicinity. Not even if they're standing at the busiest intersection in the busiest city in the Western world. There's no glancing about, no tension in the shoulders that tells you they're alert to the world around them, and that they know errands may be in progress in front, in back and to the side of them. Folks stand lax, slumped, staring forward and slightly up. You can root yourself directly behind them and slightly to the right and they won't notice your presence; or, if they do, it won't occur to them to budge or make way. We are merely extras in the home movie starring themselves. We will fluidly move around them, like streaming water around a rock.

I was brought up to be constantly aware of others around me, to keep a sharp eye out to see if I was blocking someone's way, holding someone up. For the simplest way a civilized human being can show their respect for a fellow person is to register and acknowledge their presence, and recognize they have as much right to the surrounding air and ground as you do. Also, being alert a good way to make sure you don't get mugged or sandbagged.

The only way to combat the ossifying oafs of Times Square is to make end runs around their bulking mass (the polite thing to do) or charge through them, all elbows and shoulders (the tempting thing to do). Police would help. You know, the kind that say "keep movin'." But they seem to be a thing of the past.