The unexpected holes in the ground

I am afraid of manholes. As a result, I have a profound dislike of any and all orifices in the pavement, bigger than a hairline crack, let alone those put there, on purpose, to allow full-grown men passage to the murky world below. I don't care if I look like tourist, but I simply refuse to walk on manhole covers, subway vents, storefront basement doors and any other metal covered opening on the pedestrian thoroughfare.

My aversion has nothing to do with any psychological condition or irrational fear. My fear is very real. I have fallen into a manhole. Twice. There is something profoundly jarring about being out for a walk and suddenly feeling a drastic change in perspective when you are not expecting it. From my experience, the act of falling happens so fast, it takes the brain some time to catch up and process the data of what just happened. First comes the mental inventory about what just happened, and whether all appendages are still intact. Second comes the preoccupation over accessories, such as footwear and your purse, wallet and stuff like that. Third comes the question on how you'll get yourself out.

Having had somewhat more extensive experience than most in the subject matter, I have discovered that, based on the sampling of my two falls, it's unlikely that a person faced with the same predicament would fall all the way in. I don't care how out of shape you are. Reflexes kick in and you will catch yourself, resulting in having your body, up to you chest, dangling below street level. It's not something I could call a pleasantly surprising experience.

I read somewhere that New York City has something like 750,000 manholes, and, since I plan on walking the entire city, I'm bound to pass by most of them. So I'm not taking chances. I may cause some brief traffic flow problems on the sidewalk, but trust me, it's far less scandalous than if I fall in. If you don't believe me that the sidewalk is a dangerous place, just check out the picture.