Now Reading
An Open Letter To Slow Walkers

An Open Letter To Slow Walkers

Slow walkers

I’ve got something to say, and the dawdlers aren’t going to like it.

Slow walkers are killing my will to enter the sidewalks of this world.

I’m not talking about people who have a legitimate excuse to progress at less than three* miles an hour. If you have a certified disability or are over the age of 70, this rant isn’t for you.

I’m talking about the people who insist on moving at a speed that defies logic for what can only be assumed to be the sole purpose of torturing me. People who, no matter where I’m headed or what time of day it is, manage to find their way in front of me; on the sidewalk, in the grocery aisle, when I’m headed toward the last remaining Fenty palette at Sephora, and as I’m trying to catch the bus home.

Where do you people come from? Don’t you have somewhere to be? Does the thought not enter your conscience that there may be another person behind you, a’la, me?

Even worse are the stoppers. I’m sure there’s a special place in hell reserved for you; the brainiacs who pull up short in the middle of the shampoo aisle of Costco.

I need hair products just as much as you do, m’kay?

And why, in the name of all that is holy, when I’m trying to get somewhere in a hurry, WHY must you walk with your slow-poke friends two and three abreast?

You guys know I’m trapped behind you, right? TRAPPED!

Is it that you don’t realize I’m there, or, the more rage-inducing alternative, that you don’t actually care? How can an adult human have so little personal awareness? I mean, is it actually possible?

I’m not a violent person. I’d even call myself a pacifist. But oh, how many times I’ve fantasized in graphic, delightful detail about what it would be like to slap you on the back of the head for one sweet, sweet moment…

See now, if you’d only do what logical, adult humans do and move aside on the sidewalk to let me past, I could be out of your way and you could continue on with your pointless, sluggish existence without the constant clash of my toes clicking at your heels with every slovenly step you take.

We all have to share this world, so if we all can just stick to some basic ground rules, we could all be okay, m’kay?

So the next time you feel my eyes searing into the back of your skull, step aside, ’cause I’ve got places to be and people to see.

Translation: get out of my way, bitches.


Images via

*This piece was originally published with an error stating the author was annoyed by people who walked at a pace of eight miles an hour. 

Scroll To Top