Don’t tread on me.
Something icky happened to me this week. Twice. A bike weirdo picked a fight with me and my kids. Twice. I won’t bore you with the details. It was mostly an obnoxious attempt to educate me on the rules of the road and cyclist’s rights. Try saying that fast three times: cyclist’s rights cyclist’s rights cyclist’s rights.
Bottom line, I asked someone to stop and they didn’t. I wanted to call the police but what would I say? A virgin with a go Go Pro lectured me about parking restrictions? How would I describe him…a small man in large goggles and padded pants?
Then I remembered it’s the future and everyone is famous. I’ll post the whole thing on my neighborhood Nextdoor page. Do you have one? It’s a must for garage sale info and creeping in on fights about dog poop and noise violations.
Car people vs. bike people create some epic threads. I was willing to take the heat from the two wheeled commuter snobs to expose this dickhead. Quickly pictures and links were posted in the comments and I was introduced to the fascinating world of bike vigilantes.
Is this a thing that other people know about? I went to YouTube and fell into a very deep and dark hole. The self righteous confrontations are as hypnotic as pimple popping clips. I should have been more freaked out after watching this person harass strangers over and over again. But I’m too fascinated!
I must know more about him. Please, I beg you to spend some time on his channel and get back to me with a diagnosis. A back story. An explanation. I can almost put my finger on it… oh he’s one of those guys…but no.
Should I feel bad for him? He could have a significant disability. That seems insulting to people with disabilities. Assuming weird assholes are all on the spectrum.
No. Something did this to him. This could be a “Dexter” situation. A toddler swimming in blood, destined to be a socio path is rescued from a crime scene by a gruff traffic cop. He recognizes his inner darkness and teaches him to channel that evil into something good. To clean up the city one illegal turn into a cross walk at a time. He’s doing society a solid.
Or maybe the love of his life was killed in a senseless recumbent bike accident.
His penis is small. Right?
Did his mother beat him with hot wheels and his burning hatred for automobiles is what keeps him alive?
Could you imagine this guy at Thanksgiving? Or a staff meeting? Clearly the experience has left me with more questions than answers.
I thought about changing my schedule to make sure I don’t run into him again. After my research, I think that would be missing an awesome opportunity. This could be my viral moment. The crazy bike guy meets a crazier car lady! Only I’m crazy like a fox.
Character One: he approaches the car and I listen respectfully. When I try to speak it’s just dry heaves.
I’m (gag) s (gag) orry.
Character Two: he launches in on my ethical and moral failures as a human being. I stare back blankly.
yo no hablo ingles
You’re thinking, how could that work? He knows you speak English. My years of improv and Meisner training has led me to this moment. I will commit in a way that would make Meryl Streep blush.
Character Three: time to shine the light of Jesus and share the good book y’all!
Character Four: I scream sing my favorite song from Grease Two.
There is a flaw in my brilliant plan. If it works and he is a humiliated defeated little man, why would he post it? I can’t bank on him being that much of a daft narcissist to miss that he’s the punch line. I need my own camera set up. Take him on Go Pro to Go Pro. Is that the bit…
Character Five: he taps on the window and I’m wearing matching goggles and helmet that doubles as a film crew. I repeat everything he says in a form of a question.
Do I understand what this double white line means? My car is parked in a bike lane?
(For the record it was not, but that is not the point of this enthralling piece of literature.)
I shouldn’t waste anymore of my precious time thinking about this sad person. Perhaps I should feel empathy towards him. I can’t imagine he has many positive relationships. Maybe I shouldn’t take his behavior so lightly and fear for my family’s safety.
Even if it’s just in this thought experiment, it feels good to think I have a plan to protect my children and reclaim my power. All by vomiting in Spanish.