It's Hot as Hell, Get the Hell Out of My Way
Do you want me to run you over? Because I might have to. We're on a crowded subway platform, and you're poking along in the two feet of available space at the slowest rate of speed possible. You have single-handedly managed to cause a human traffic jam. I bet that if you had a driver's license, you would be the guy who drives 50 in a 55. And I would be the one tailgating you, laying on the horn. Do you know what it's like to sit in a traffic jam in 100 degree weather? It's not fun, and your car runs the risk of overheating. Right now, my temper is about to overheat.
Oh my god, are you serious? It's only one more block until I can get inside, and you just crossed from your cab to the storefront like a crippled old lady. Would you cross a street like that? If you saw a speeding Italian sportscar coming straight for you, would you continue to cross the street at the speed of a slug? Because that's what you're doing when you cross the sidewalk like that. I'm the speeding Italian sportscar. My walking speed screams "get the hell out of my way," so get the hell out of my way.