I know where I'm going...

On a walk home from Whole Foods, I pause patiently for a light to turn. Next to me on the corner is a tall lanky guy numbing his attention with headphones.

Red light. I continue.

Mr. Headphones' stature carries him a few strides ahead of me on Harvard Street. Just as I am about to trail off through the park someone begs "EXCUSE ME, EXCUSE ME!" I break loose from my internal monologue and seek out the caller.

I'm met with the eyes of a stranger. A woman with short gray hair is hunched over her steering wheel, serenading need through the opened driver's side window of a gray sedan.

I look at her, but she stares at Mr. Headphones. "EXCUSE ME. EXCUUUUSE ME!" I look again, and she glances at me, then back at him, while rolling her car at a pedestrian's pace.

After a couple of more calls and glances, I wonder why she continues to yell at him when I'm acknowledging her. I try again. I stare with the "Yes, may I help you?" look and she catches it, gives me a once over, and turns back toward Mr. Headphones. Interesting.

Now I stop walking and look at her. Clearly I'm here to help. Just then, she gives it one more go with him, and it works. He actually hears her and turns toward the interruption.

"How do I get to Inman from here?" she wails. He approaches her, stumbling through "Uhs" and "Ums."

I wonder why she didn't see my stopping and looking right at her as an invitation to ask me. Why did she continue to serenade someone clearly not paying attention, and ignore someone who was? What was it about me that gave off the "I can't navigate myself for the five blocks it takes to get to Inman Square?"

In the 30 seconds it takes to clear earshot, he still hasn't shared his wealth of navigational knowledge and I'm left feeling insulted by her unspoken presumptions.