Conor Cawley: A True Story From Someone Else’s Perspective

I have the green arrow. Why are you crossing? Seriously, what the actual fuck do you think you’re doing? I have the green arrow! Stop crossing! You don’t have a little white man telling you to cross. Stop it! I don’t care if you are also a white man, you need to listen to what white men tell you to do!

Fuck it, I’m gonna hit him. I know I’m on the way to pick up my daughter Madison from pre-school and my beautiful and understanding wife is the car with me. But I’m going to run this guy over for stepping into a crosswalk when me and my Range Rover have a green arrow to turn left.

Well, he got out of the way at the last second, but he seems pretty mad. I wish I could just keep driving but, unfortunately, this is the corner where I have to pick up my daughter Madison from preschool. Well, at least I’ll have a chance to calmly inform this misinformed gentleman that when I have the green arrow, he isn’t allowed to cross.

Oh great, now he’s yelling at me for almost running him over, even though I was clearly in the right because I had a green arrow. I’m not going to let him get close to my Range Rover (or my beautiful and understanding wife), so I’m going to get out and back him up to the sidewalk.

He did not just shove me. This old, possibly mentally handicapped man just shoved me. He must not understand that I had the green arrow. A simple misunderstanding, I’m sure. I will just say over and over again that I had the green arrow in an aggressive tone and I’m sure he will understand and be on his way. Wait, why is he hanging is cane on the fence next to the preschool?

Holy shit, he just shoved me again. Can you believe the nerve of this guy? Maybe if I explain again that I had the green arrow, while shoving him in turn, he’ll finally concede his wildly unfounded anger at me almost running him over and resume his unimportant life away from me, my perfect family, and my Range Rover. After all, my beautiful and understanding wife hasn’t stopped me from doing this at all, so she must be on board, despite that noticeably embarrassed look on her face.

You just tried to punch me! You’re at least 6 inches shorter than me and 20 years older than me and you think I’m going to let you get away with throwing a left hook without any repercussions? Luckily, I’m all jazzed up from watching the playoffs and learned a thing or two from getting bullied by football players in high school.

That’s right, I’m wrestling an old, possibly mentally disabled guy on the wet, ice filled sidewalk in front of my daughter Madison’s preschool, which has now attracted a bevy of concerned onlookers and potential police callers.

“Guys, you’re fighting in front of a preschool, are you serious?”

Who could possibly be taking issue with what I’m doing? This 5’9, incredibly handsome onlooker with a plaid shirt and a receding hairline must realize I had the green arrow and that I needed to run over this old, possibly mentally disabled man in an effort to display my dominance to my beautiful understanding wife.

“Just leave him alone. It’s a preschool.”

He must not understand. “Yeah, I know, I’m picking my kid up.”

“How is that better?!”

Well, talking to this 5’9 incredibly handsome onlooker with the plaid shirt and a receding hairline is doing nothing to help the situation. I’ll just keep explaining to this guy that I had the green arrow as he verbally accosts me for being well-dressed and driving a Range Rover. Eventually, he’s got to understand.

Finally, he’s gone.

Yes, this all probably seems very irrational. Honestly, I’m a big enough adult to understand that. After all, I drive a Range Rover. But you have to understand, I’ve had a really rough day and I needed to blow off some steam. Traffic was really bad on the way to picking up my daughter Madison, my beautiful and understanding wife kept telling me to take the express lane even though it was way more crowded than the regular highway, and I keep getting called a racist online because I voted for Trump.

But still, deep down, I know this was wrong. The mud stains on my Dockers prove that. I just hope my beautiful and understanding wife, and my now-scarred daughter Madison in no way foster negativity towards me for the rest of my life. Because after all, I drive a Range Rover.


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