I Kick Babies, Too

I yelled at an old man today. And it was awesome.

Drivers sometimes forget that bikes are usually faster than cars in the city. Especially during rush hour. So it’s priceless to see the look on their face when you stick your head in their window to confront them about their assholery after they thought they left you in the gutter. Suddenly their anonymity is unexpectedly stripped and they’re sitting there like the clueless clod that just stole a foul ball from the grip of an 8 year-old kid at a ballgame. A captive audience until the light changes. I’m getting all warm and fuzzy again just thinking about it.

I only used one curse word and ended the convo with the classic, “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” instead of telling him where to stick his stank-ass cigar. Which is surprising restraint since that type of confrontation usually occurs under the influence of adrenaline and some hardcore hammering on the pedals to chase them down.

Don’t worry, it wasn’t one of those cute confused old men who like to drive through storefronts. It was one of them bastard old guys who think they can do whatever the hell they want because they have a Medicare card.

Well, they can’t. At least not in my bike lane.