Better to Look Down When Walking

Like the most recent post about joining sports teams in Italy, there is actually a part two.  My friend ended up not wanting to play with my team because she was too busy.  That is true.  And the cost of joining the team might have been too much.  But I suspect my friend who came to the volleyball practice that one February evening also didn’t want to play with us because of the bad omen she received RIGHT before we arrived.

The gyms that are rented out for training are almost always school gyms.  Elementary or Middle school gyms seem to be the typical choices. The way Rome is situated, apartment buildings shoot sky-high into the air.  Schools, on the other hand, are usually a fraction of the height of apartment buildings and are basically tucked in between or behind, fit wherever possible.  So the first time I had practice, all I found was a black gate with the number of the address and a long driveway.  Nothing on the front told me it was a school.  That also could have been my ignorance of the language, but honestly it didn’t seem well signed.

Practices started at 9:15pm and lasted for an hour and a half.  In February, at 9:00pm, that means it is dark, dark, dark.  And where there are residential areas with schools next to them, there are plenty of people.  And their pets.

As we walked up the middle of the street between all those parked, compact cars, I stop in my tracks because my friend’s inner-sailor spouted off a series of curses too extreme for VASGO VIEWERS. The culprit: dog doo.

"Please clean up after me..."

Indeed, no one would enjoy having to clean that off their shoes before playing in them for the next hour and a half.  Stepping in that would ruin anyone’s night.

Yet, in Rome, it’s awfully common.  I also hear it’s quite typical in Venice also.  One of my biggest pet peeves is people not cleaning up after their animals.  Living in Rome, I’ve had to walk down many a street dancing what I call the “Dog Doo Shuffle”. Side step here, two steps forward. Side step there, hop, hop, hop. And repeat, more times than I like.

Some residential neighborhoods have proven themselves to be incompetent at best at cleaning up their animal’s waste and the Roman police recognize that.  One such street, in a fantastic district for foodies called Testaccio, was the detail for police officers walking around in street clothes and handing out tickets to those who didn’t pick up the stuff.  When I heard that was happening, I was the happiest Testaccio resident. 

For a few weeks, it was really successful. Then the police had other things to do.  Alas, the stuff was back, but so were my crazy, good dance moves.

Side step here.

Two steps forward.

Side step there.

Hop, hop, hop.