Dear Editor:
How Taylor Swift Nearly Got Me Killed
On Sunday, my friends and I went to see the Taylor Swift: Showgirl movie. Now, I’m not exactly a Swiftie, but I do admire the woman. She’s an empire in heels, a business mastermind who turns sparkle into strategy. And that movie? A masterclass in business wrapped in sequins.
Naturally, we decided to dress the part. My outfit? A flapper dress dripping with sequins, matching gloves, a headband, fishnet stockings, and, of course, heels that screamed bad decision.
At one o’clock, we met at the Liberty Theater bar for a pre-show drink, laughing like we were twenty again.
Afterward, I stopped by the San Juan Eatery to grab dinner for my husband, who, bless him, was at home painting. Not exactly a showgirl kind of Sunday.
Bag in hand, I headed toward my car parked across Highway 160. And that’s where the fun ended.
If you’ve tried crossing 160 lately, you know it feels like playing a real-life game of Frogger. The flashing pedestrian lights in the middle of the highway are gone, and now we’re forced to cross only at the traffic light. I pressed the button. A robotic voice barked, “WAIT.” So I waited. The walk sign flashed, and I looked both ways, like a responsible, sparkly adult, and started across.
Less than halfway across the highway, the light on Hot Springs Boulevard changed. A man in a white pickup revved his engine. Loud. Angry. Fast. Coming directly for me. He meant to hit me, or scare the crap out of me.
In heels, running wasn’t an option. I froze, heart hammering. The truck surged forward, stopping less than a foot away. I could’ve reached out and touched his hood. My sequins practically rattled from the shock.
Now, I’m not one for confrontation because you never know who’s packing, but the words flew out before I could stop them.
“Hey, [expletive]! I still have twelve seconds on the clock. Back off!”
He shouted something back, but over the roar of his engine, I couldn’t hear a thing. I finished crossing, every muscle trembling, furious and shaken. What kind of person tries to mow down a pedestrian just because he can’t wait twelve seconds?
For the record, that yellow flashing arrow means yield. As in, don’t hit people in the crosswalk. Apparently, this guy missed that lesson in driver’s ed.
Later that night, I came to two conclusions: I’m done parking on the far side of 160. That stretch of road is a death trap. Next time, if a truck comes at me, I’m clutching my chest and going full Southern drama queen. A slow-motion faint right in the middle of the lane. Heart attack. Call an ambulance. Let’s see how he likes me shutting down the highway while the paramedics arrive.
Oh, and I’ll have my phone ready to capture his bright, beautiful face. Why don’t we have cameras at this intersection?
Come on, Pagosa, we’re better than this.
Sylvia McDaniel
