Dear Mr. Guy on a Mountain Bike Eastbound on Grant at 3:00 Monday Afternoon:
It wasn't your shirtlessness or lack of a helmet that bothered me so much. Neither is a particularly wise choice when biking anywhere in Tucson, much less on one of the busiest east-west thoroughfares in the city, but that bad choice isn't what got to me. It wasn't even the near-heart attack I got as a result of glancing in my mirror and thinking you were sitting in the bed of my pickup. What pissed me off was the second glance at the mirror, the one that told me you were not actually in the truck but right beside it, and then the third look, a hard stare that confirmed you were fucking hanging on to the back corner of my truck, closer by a couple of feet to the back wheel than a trailer would be, at 40 mph in heavy traffic.
No, it wasn't exactly a Jackass-caliber stunt, but it would have taken a chunk out of my insurance and traumatized the hell out of my kid if you had hit a pothole or a rock, or if I'd had to slam on my brakes or swerve suddenly to the right, or if anything else had happened to turn your stupid unhelmeted ass into a shirtless skid mark as a result of you hitching a ride on my tailgate.
Next time you're competing hard for a Darwin Award, do it without involving other people, you stupid motherfucker.
Sincerely,
Boltgirl
Oh yeah. I clutched and gunned the engine, he got the hint and let go, and I moved over into the left lane. Really gotta remember not to leave the house without my camera any more.
1 comment:
Wow! That's just amazingly psychotic, yet saddly funny as well :( What will people think of next?
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