Escalators

I hate people on escalators.

Whether they are walking single file and leaving enough room for me to pass or if they are standing with huge bags of luggage, blocking the whole pathway, I hate them all. Now, don't get me wrong, I hate the loitering, space-hogging wafflers a little more. But there is one group of people who would get fan-mail from my hatred if it had the tenacity to write without my consent:
The people who walk briskly up the escalator, only to slow and come to a stop 3 steps from the top.

I'm speeding up the escalator at the bus tunnel with my standard, gallantly efficient, two step jump-run and just over half-way up I'm stopped dead in my sprint by a huge lady waffling side to side.

Sleep Deprivation Ninja: *cough* *hrrm*
Lady with Bags: "..."
SDN: "um... BTW, your shoes are untied."

As LB bends down to check her shoes, I leap ten feet in the air, over her gnarled hair, the momentum of electric steps throwing me forward as I reach the top. Passersby stare in awe as I hover in the air, just before my descent to the ground. I'm the hero. I'm the king of the escalator. Nobody fucks with me.

Sleep Deprivation Ninja laughs in the face of physics.

Sleep Deprivation Ninja doesn't mess around. He doesn't wuss out and land gracefully. No, when it comes to admitting colossal fuck-ups, Sleep Deprivation Ninja makes sure everyone learns from his mistake. When Sleep Deprivation Ninja hit the ground, he hit so hard Chuck Norris shat his pants. Sure, he rolled, he tumbled, but his limbs splayed and covered the walkway like a broken piano, thrown from a rooftop. But Sleep Deprivation Ninja isn't called a ninja for nothing. Popping bones back into place is kid stuff. Really, the only trick is getting both arms back in so you can more easily do your legs. The first arm is the hardest. I fumble around on the ground, flopping like a thirsty fish, until my right shoulder pivots in a skyward position, providing enough force of gravity to compress my left. By the time I get all back together, the transit authority is almost upon me. Less than 4 meters away (yes, ninjas use metric), I jump up, bouncing off one wall and run to the next set of escalators. Nobody can keep up with the Ninja on an escalator, nobody.

I'm taking the steps two or three at a time, approaching a young guy in a preppy kiss-ass business suit who is heading up with a brisk one-two, one-two as if he's going to be late for some meeting. I do the mental calculus and figure he will be out of my way by the time I reach his position at the top.

The transit authority is dead on my heel, running up the manual steps next to me, shouting, "Sir, halt!" Two jumps from the top of the steps, this intern-wannabee piss-ant in front of me comes to a stop, taking up the whole walkway.

Sleep Deprivation Ninja: "Donald Trump is signing autographs downstairs!"
Intern Wannabee Dude: "huh, shit!"

He leaps off the side of the escalator and rolls down the stairs, crushing the transit authority police who are as surprised as the gullible rat-race fanboy. I make my great escape through the open air of the Downtown Seattle streets, the sky blistering with little droplets of rain.

Sleep Deprivation Ninja disappears into the smokey haze of the morning mist.