The Crosswalk Cowboy

“Don’t tell me you’ve assaulted someone over a button,” Cass said, looking up from her laptop as I stepped into the office.

“Depends on how you define ‘assault,’ Cass,” I replied, shrugging off my jacket like I’d just won a prize fight. “I prefer ‘instilling manners.’”

Cass’s eyes narrowed, catching the faint trace of smugness in my grin. “So, what happened this time? Parking ticket? Did you yell at another meter maid?”

“Worse.” I leaned on the edge of her desk, which earned me an eye roll. “A Button Re-presser.”

“A what?” she asked, her voice climbing a notch.

“A Button Re-presser, Cass! The kind that watches you push the crossing button but decides their touch is superior, like they’ve been blessed by the gods of traffic signals.”

Cass smirked, leaning back in her chair, intrigued. “Oh, this I gotta hear.”

“Right, so there I am, storming out of the courthouse, fumes practically pouring out of my ears from the latest showdown with those corporate landlords. I get to the four-way near the park. Nobody there, clear as day. I press the button—twice for good measure. And out of nowhere, this bloke in a suit, real ‘I’m-the-CEO-of-smug’ type, leans in and gives it a couple of his own pushes.”

Cass’s eyes lit up. “No.”

“Oh yes.” I waved my hands for emphasis. “So I say, ‘Got a special technique there, mate?’ Real polite, too, considering.”

“Let me guess, he said something charming like ‘I didn’t see you,’” Cass offered with a smirk.

I chuckled darkly. “Better. He called me a ‘caffeinated woodpecker.’”

Cass choked on her laughter, covering her mouth with her hand. “You’re joking.”

“Wish I was. So, naturally, I asked if he was some kind of ‘Crossing Whisperer.’ Then, just as I’m mid-sentence, the man—no joke—goes for the button again.”

“No!” Cass was grinning now, fully invested.

“Oh yeah, he did. So I told him, ‘Touch that button one more time and I’ll show—’”

“And?” Cass prompted, eyes wide.

“And the bloke goes, ‘Stop me, Crosswalk Cowboy,’ and presses it. Twice.”

Cass’s laughter exploded, echoing across the office. “Crosswalk Cowboy! I’m putting that on a mug.”

“Make it two.” I couldn’t help but grin. “So, I did what anyone raised in the school of unspoken rules would do. Gave him a Liverpool kiss. Clean, efficient. He crumpled like a bad investment.”

“Oh my god.” Cass’s laughter faded as reality set in. “Wait. Please tell me this didn’t end with sirens?”

“Not yet, but give it time. I’m betting he’ll need to explain the nose job to his mates over lunch.” I straightened, heading toward my desk. “Anyway, if anyone asks, I’m catching up on emails. And no, I don’t want to talk about crossing etiquette anymore.”

Cass, still laughing under her breath, called after me, “Remind me never to touch a button in your presence.”

I gave her a cheeky grin. “Crosswalk Cowboy rules are simple, Cass. Respect the press.”

I do wish this wasn't a true story
FSF