This Is Why I'm Not Allowed Out in Public Very Often

The YMCA on the corner is the landmark to find my street.  I thought the sign today said "Tamales:  Pay Here".  I have a source for homemade tamales now (a dozen for ten bucks), but I just ate the last two for dinner last night, so I was eager to get more.  At second glance, the sign read "Families Play Here".  (I'd rather have the tamales, thanks.)

After many months (it started sometime between Halloween and Thanksgiving) the upgrade of the traffic signal between my apartment and the library is nearing completion.  The crosswalk buttons and lights have been activated.  I am very glad – but was very surprised when I pushed the button and was told "Wait!" very loudly, sharply, and, if I may interpret, a bit impatiently by a male voice.  I suppose the volume is necessary to be heard over traffic (but then why isn't the bird chirp, signalling it's safe* to cross, as loud?), but the tone of voice is kind of like you'd hear when I really want to cross the road, Daddy, is it safe, Daddy, is it my turn yet, Daddy?  "Wait!"  (I guess that's what we have to do if we hope to see the sidewalks return.)

* "Safe" is a relative term.  If it were truly safe, those two cars wouldn't have nearly driven over me as I crossed the road.  (What did you expect, Cap'n?  This is Tulsa.)

Some children were emerging from a vehicle in the parking lot of the apartment complex across the road and down a bit from mine.  I thought one of them said "green beer", or maybe "reindeer".  I suppose, if you drank enough green beer, you might think you see reindeer.  (What about orange beer for us Protestants, eh?)