Oddly Infuriating: Passers-by

I'm walking down a street, alone. It's a Wednesday afternoon, five o'clock, and I'm coming home late from school. I've just gotten off the bus, making sure to say a routine "thank you" to the driver. The rush of traffic is loud, but within moments, it's as though a door has just closed behind me. I walk down a narrow alley into the surrounding residential area, minding my own business, reflecting on my day. Then I notice a person about twenty metres ahead, walking in my direction. Receiving a twinge of annoyance, I continue walking, but my train of thought has completely derailed. With a ten metre clearance, I 'm on autopilot; I start to walk faster, my body stands taller. I keep my eyes staring straight at the ground, my head tilted downwards as though scanning for pennies. My eyes dart up repeatedly, and at the two metre clearance, I finally lock onto the eyes of the unknown passer-by. It's a young man, probably in his early twenties. He's wearing a plain grey jacket and jeans. Right before we pass, I edge my body sideways, as though he's carrying some sort of disease. Then it's as though I'm waking up from a dream. In that moment, the only things that existed were him and me. In that moment, the only thing I could see was him; the only things I could hear were our footsteps and a slight crinkling of his jacket. As my surroundings bloom back into existance and my heart rate slows, I exhale, realizing that I hadn't been breathing.

Whether it be walking past someone or cutting in front of them, I always go through that gruesome proceedure of feelings and actions. Unless it's a friend, I cannot bear these arbitrary encounters. I guess it has to do with a fear of judgement, because I always feel like I'm passing through airport security and they are the probes that can scan into my soul. Even worse is when others are stationary, set up as though to purposefully delve into the brains of those who appear within range. But by far the most dreaded of my passing worries is when the bystander turns out to be someone I once knew: an old friend who I hadn't talked to for years. I'd rather take a mile long detour than be caught in the awkward concentrate of decisions of whether to say something or keep silent.

Hopefully I will eventually outgrow this erratic behaviour, which has led to... uhhh... well, it hasn't really affected me in the long term, or anyone else for that matter. I guess there are more irrational things to fear, like balloons. Who doesn't like balloons? Or mustard. I mean, I don't really like mustard, but a mustard phobia? Come on... Unless someone attempted to murder you by force feeding you with mustard, I don't see what one could strongly have against it.

This will likely conclude my Oddly Infuriating series... Unless I can think of some more weird things.