The thing about cities is that they’re unpredictable.
Just when you think you’ve found your rhythm, something—or someone—throws it all off balance.
It might be a missed crosswalk signal, a rogue delivery truck, or, in today’s case, a person who seemed determined to exist outside the rules of common courtesy.
I wasn’t looking for a confrontation that morning, but then again, fate rarely asks for permission.
Little did I know, the universe had its own way of settling scores—and it was waiting just a few steps ahead.
A Glitch in the Flow
The thing about mornings in Chicago is that the city moves like a well-oiled machine. People zip and weave through the streets, a collective current of determination fueled by caffeine and the fear of being late.
I’ve always taken pride in being part of that flow.
I’m a commuter, a cog in the great metropolitan wheel. I know my role.
Which is why, when Lila—or at least, that’s what I decided her name must be—appeared, it was like a software crash in the middle of a critical update.
I first noticed her just outside the bakery on 6th, standing in the middle of the sidewalk with a latte in one hand and her phone in the other.
She wasn’t walking so much as meandering, her steps lazy, her head tilted down as if the secrets of the universe might be embedded in her screen.
I tried to sidestep her, but no sooner had I moved to the right than she veered in the same direction.
Fine. I shifted left. So did she.
It became a sidewalk waltz neither of us had signed up for, and certainly one I didn’t want to be part of.
I gritted my teeth, already feeling the burn of precious seconds slipping away.
“Excuse me,” I muttered, just loud enough for her to hear, though I doubted she did. She gave no indication she was even aware of my presence.
I thought about speeding up, but her bag, an oversized monstrosity that looked like it had swallowed a department store whole, swung unpredictably with each step. I imagined it taking me out like a medieval flail, and the visual alone was enough to keep me in check.
As the crowd swirled around us, I felt the pressure mounting. People were glancing at me like I was part of the problem, a complicit conspirator in her sidewalk sabotage.
The latte lady’s obliviousness had somehow become my burden to bear.
Dance of Frustration
By the time we reached the corner, my patience had worn paper-thin.
I tried every tactic I could think of to free myself from her gravitational pull. A fake cough. A deliberate scrape of my shoe against the pavement.
I even made an exaggerated show of checking my watch and huffing loudly, but nothing worked. Lila was impervious to social cues, a fortress of self-absorption.
Just as I thought I might be doomed to follow her until the end of time, she came to an abrupt halt.
No warning. No reason.
One second she was moving, the next she was standing stock-still in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing me to slam on the metaphorical brakes to avoid colliding with her.
“Are you kidding me?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, but if she heard, she didn’t react.
Instead, she held up her phone, angling it at some street mural I hadn’t even noticed. Apparently, this was her big moment, the perfect backdrop for her iced latte to shine.
I sidestepped around her, only to be thwarted again as she turned to find a better angle.
It was like being trapped in an Escher drawing, the exit always just out of reach.
And then, just as I was about to resign myself to my fate, I noticed it again—the puddle.
It sat innocently near the curb, glinting in the sunlight, a wide expanse of water left over from last night’s rain.
I didn’t think much of it at first. It was just another obstacle in the labyrinth of my commute.
But something about the way it shimmered made it impossible to ignore.
In that moment, I made my decision.
I wasn’t going to wait for her to finish her impromptu photo shoot. I wasn’t going to play this ridiculous game any longer. I was taking the street route.
And as I stepped off the sidewalk, I had no idea that fate—or perhaps karma—was about to intervene in a way I could never have predicted.
Karma in a Splash
I stepped into the street with determination, dodging a biker and ignoring the honk of a car whose driver seemed personally offended by my brief presence in their lane.
Freedom was within reach—a few quick strides, and I’d finally leave her and her latte behind.
That’s when it happened.
A car sped past me, its tires cutting through the puddle in a perfect storm of velocity and water displacement.
For a split second, time seemed to freeze.
I turned instinctively, just in time to see the arc of dirty rainwater take flight. It soared gracefully, like something out of a slow-motion action movie, before crashing directly onto Lila.
The impact was spectacular.
Water splashed across her perfectly styled hair, her flowy dress clinging to her in sodden defeat. Her latte, once proudly held aloft as the centerpiece of her makeshift photo shoot, wobbled in her hand before tipping forward, drenching the rest of her outfit.
For a moment, she stood there, stunned, her phone dangling precariously in her hand as if even it couldn’t believe what had just happened.
Then came the shriek—a sound so piercing it seemed to momentarily silence the city.
Heads turned. Pedestrians slowed, some pretending not to watch but unable to resist sneaking a glance.
Lila’s expression morphed from shock to outrage, her mouth opening and closing like she was searching for the perfect words to encapsulate her fury.
“Hey! You—” she started, her voice trembling with indignation as she looked in my direction.
I braced myself. I could feel the heat of her anger radiating across the sidewalk.
But instead of responding, I did the only thing I could: I adjusted the strap of my briefcase, gave her a polite, almost imperceptible nod, and kept walking.
Balance Restored
I didn’t hurry. I didn’t gloat. I just walked, a calm and steady pace that seemed almost too measured given the chaos behind me.
But inside? Inside, I was glowing.
It wasn’t just the poetic justice of the moment—though that was part of it. It was the pure, unfiltered satisfaction of seeing the universe deliver its own swift and decisive verdict.
She had been so consumed by her own little world, so oblivious to the people around her, and now she was standing there, drenched and sputtering, the star of a scene she hadn’t planned to create.
As I turned the corner and her shouts faded into the background, I allowed myself a small smile.
I thought about the puddle, sitting quietly on the curb, minding its own business until the perfect moment arrived. A random collection of rainwater had achieved what I couldn’t: it stopped her.
No strategy, no passive-aggressive tactics—just pure, unrelenting karma.
By the time I reached my office, the whole encounter felt like a dream, a strange little hiccup in the morning rush.
I grabbed a coffee from the lobby cafe, its warmth cutting through the lingering chill of the commute.
And as I sipped, I reflected on the beauty of balance in the world—how sometimes, when you least expect it, justice puddles its way into your path.
I slid into my desk, logged into my computer, and let the rhythm of the workday carry me forward.
Somewhere out there, Lila was probably still drying off.
And for the first time in weeks, I wasn’t even five minutes late.