After my interview with WBZ News and correspondence with John Houghton of the MBTA, I decided to lay low for a while and observe the outcome of this activity. It is with profound disappointment that I report absolutely no change in the illegal driving activity of the MBTA buses. In the last three weeks I have observed and reported numerous buses running red lights, buses offloading passengers in the middle of the street rather than a designated bus stop, and I have once again been hit by an MBTA bus that did not stop.

It has become apparent that nothing is changing, and that accountability is a thing of myth and legend when it comes to the MBTA.

What am I to do next?

I attempted to follow up on the reports I have made to the MBTA by calling and requesting information; citing the ‘pin number’ that was assigned to my complaint. What I received was a lecture about procedure, “your complaint is taken by the MBTA communications office and sent to the Administration/Garage, where it is reviewed and it is possible that the driver was held accountable”. That’s great, but that  doesn’t tell me anything about MY personal case. How can I hold the MBTA accountable, and specifically the DRIVER WHO HIT ME WITH A BUS, if the MBTA refuses to release information? I am still awaiting a call back from the supervisor of the complaint line; I requested the driver’s ID number, which they are legally bound to give you if you request it. We’ll see if they call back.

I was at the Stop and Shop on Harvard St. last friday during lunch hour; just slouching around the store looking at yogurt and soda and postponing my return to work, when I noticed a ruckus in the front of the store. Well, more of a hubbub. A bunch of employees were clustered around a dude walking a bike into the store, helmet on head. I figured they were giving him ish about bringing his bike into the store (he clearly had a lock), and so I didn’t have an opinion on the situation either way; I did wander over to observe, because I’m just a naturally curious person. When I got closer I realized this biker (mild mannered helmet wearer with cargo-ready hybrid) was visibly upset – he had entered the store chasing after a man that had knocked him to the ground as he entered the parking lot on his bicycle. Just body-slammed him, out of nowhere.

This is the point at which I get a little steamed.

As I am questioning (to myself, I’m still just an observer) why someone would just knock a biker over in a Stop and Shop parking lot, and what Mr. Mild Mannered Biker did to deserve it, the group of us finally overtake Mr. Shove. The group confronts him and Mr. Mild Manners recounts the incident in the lot, with a query as to what brought that on. Mr. Shove barks something that sounds very much like what a cop would say when confronted, but it’s not intelligible enough for me to remember. Not really complete sentences. He may be disturbed, or he may not have had his coffee yet… but either way it’s clear that this guy has a problem; he’s a bully and a jerk, and he is STILL making threatening gestures. At this point I think , “ok here’s where Mr. Mild calls the police and reports him.. maybe gets him arrested”. But no! Mr. Mild Mannered backs down and takes his bike outside, riding away.

This is where I kind of freak out, because I feel that this is EXACTLY the kind of behavior (by cyclists) that allows us to be such easy victims of other people’s belligerence and frustration. I am feeling the flame of bikey solidarity boiling up in me, and I am pissed.

So I followed Mr. Shove outside and set my phone to take his picture. He noticed me doing this and barks “You take my picture and I’ll break that camera!”

So I took his picture, and I barked right back, “He should have called the police and had you arrested.”

Arf arf arf!

In retrospect, I question the prudence of this. Sure, I was in a public place with access to immediate assistance if he’d done something, but this guy was clearly not quite right in the head. And ALSO… this wasn’t my fight. Just because Mr. Mild Mannered was on a bike doesn’t mean he and I are part of some exclusive gang; I didn’t know him from Adam. But then again… I would likely have done the same thing even if he WASN’T on a bike.. the bike is just what attracted me in the first place. It’s easy to back someone up if you have some immediately recognizable kinship to them. Sometimes we identify with people because they are the same age group, or they wear similar clothing (all it takes is someone sporting a Death’s Head motif), but what if we all had this immediate ‘tend and befriend’ reaction to someone in distress, despite the lack of social indentifier? I’d like to see that happen, in myself and with the community.

Good Morning Gabrielle Collins,

I am sorry that you had to write again. I sincerely apologize for the actions of the bus operator of bus 2294. The Instruction Department as well as the Cabot Area mobile inspector have been monitoring the Harvard Ave/Cambridge St intersection since your tip. Additionally, the operator of bus 2294 has been identified and will be disciplined for his actions. We will continue to pay extra attention to this intersection and change the behavior of those operators who are violating traffic laws and putting our customers in danger.

Sincerely,

John J. Houghton

Superintendent

Cabot Garage

This is a nice development, but we shall see if my observations of this intersection show a difference in activity. Meanwhile I will continue to take steps to affect change on the attitude of apathy toward hazardous driving by the MBTA operators.

Seriously? I need to escape this city. It’s been said that people in Boston are surly, snarky, misanthropic assholes, but I’ve never really had proof posi before. Don’t get me wrong – the other half are soulmate worthy, bff bliss cuddle munchkins that I can’t live without, but when half of the batch of apples is bad you get one hell of a blindness-inducing, colo-rectal cancer brewing batch of Applejack. I mean, people are apathetic everywhere; more likely to ignore someone with a problem than lend a hand; but Bostonians are the type of people to wish harm on a perfect stranger for no good reason. Ugh. So disappointed people, so disappointed.

Yesterday, not three hours after I’d received my response from Route 66 director John J. Houghton regarding the bus that nearly hit me on Monday, I was again waiting at a red light on Harvard Avenue to cross Cambridge Street. As the light for Cambridge Street became yellow I put my foot on my pedal, and made ready to move. As  I watched the light turn red, my body exhibiting the intent to scoot out into the intersection at a moment’s notice, I became aware of a growing roar from my left, west on Cambridge Street. And then a sharp honk. Route 66 Bus #2294 (or 2293, it was going over 30 MPH so it was difficult to catch the number) not only roared through the intersection against a red light, but gave me warning that it had ABSOLUTELY NO INTENTION OF SLOWING OR STOPPING.

I realized after this that the MBTA deserves not just our disdain and our everlasting disappointment, but also our FEAR. The drivers of these buses are blatantly neglecting the safety of the citizens of the Boston area, and breaking the trust that we put in them to hold our lives in their hands every day, whether we are their passengers or merely sharing the roads with them.  I am disgusted by this neglectful behavior, having witnessed it daily for over a year on my route to work; having been hit by an MBTA bus while on my bicycle and then told by the driver that she was in no way required to provide me her information; having watched the green line proceed through intersections against car traffic that obviously had a green signal; having watched buses stop in the middle of the lane the entire length of their route to meet passengers, even though it is policy that they pull into each stop completely so traffic can get by.

I call for the bus driver who ran that red light yesterday at 5:10PM on Route 66, number 2294 or 2293, to be removed from service completely. To run a red light at speeds of 30 MPH and give warning shows premeditated disregard for traffic law, and a comfort with such acts that cannot be tolerated.

Remember when Kelly Wallace died at the intersection of Cambridge Street and Harvard Ave in May, 2007? Well, that almost happened to me just now, and I’m sure I’m not the only one who has almost gotten creamed at this intersection in the past 3 years. MBTA Bus number 0721 was stopped at the bottom of the hill, letting passengers off, during the green light for Cambridge Street. I was waiting at the light facing the entrance to Harvard Ave. Just after the change, the instant the light turned red for Cambridge and an instant before it turned green for Harvard, I was about to kick off; my left side was facing the bus stop, so I couldn’t even SEE the bus as it jammed on it’s gas and roared through the intersection; THROUGH the red light. The only thing that saved me from being underneath it was probably the extra weight in my panniers and on my body (lunch, breakfast, and three extra layers because it’s 13f out there today!) My slow start brought me only within a nose-brush of the side of Bus 0721. This is not an uncommon sight. Red light running through the Cambridge/Harvard Ave. intersection is the norm, rather than the exception.

Since I do see this every day, and someone has indeed died at this intersection in the last few years, I am anxious to have something done about this. The sooner the better, considering my still hammering heart after my own brush with death.

I will be adding a transcription of my calls to the MBTA and the BPD later on today, as I am in a marketing meeting at the moment.

UPDATE: Ooh, watch as I create an infinite blog loop… don’t get sucked in!

I called the MBTA, left all my information and my complaint. Here is my response:

We appreciate your business and value your feedback.  A customer service
issue was logged on 2010-01-29 at 15:05:13

A tracking number of 02117797 has been assigned to this call.  Please
reference this number on any additional communications you may have
regarding this issue.

The information you provided has been forwarded to the appropriate group.
If additional actions are required, a member from that department will
follow up on your issue.

Should you have additional questions or concerns regarding this issue,
please contact the Customer Support Services at 617-222-3200 or
800-392-6100, Monday through Friday ,6:30 AM to 8:00 PM and Sat/Sun from 7:30 AM to 6:00 PM.

Many thanks to folk at UHub for correcting my Harvard Ave/Street confusion – I work at the end where it’s called “Street”

Many middle fingers to the people who read the repost of my blog and wanted to make this a ‘bikers don’t follow the law’ issue. I was waiting at MY red light. I’m not going to rant about this now because frankly, it’s not worth it. A) you’re wrong, B) you’re a stool sample. End of story.

Just called the City of Boston transportation department, told them about my situation and this ongoing problem. This was their response:

“The city does not have any authority over the MBTA or it’s operations.”

INTERESTING.

I highly doubt he ‘asked’ the kids to get out of his way, especially if it was who I think it was.

A few weeks ago, a truck from Brighton Towing pushed me into the curb while I was traveling in the bike lane in the Brookline end of Harvard St., southbound. When we reached a red light, I hollered ‘Too Close’, at the driver, as I am wont to do when speedy parasites infringe upon my lanespace. When he caught up with me again, he swerved into the bike lane ON PURPOSE this time, screaming out the window. Assault with a deadly tow truck, I’d call that. Anyway, I found out his name is Jay, via calling the number ON HIS TRUCK. Idiot.

Seems someone got their just desserts at Brighton Towing, probably for following this same driving/public relations pattern. I really hope it was our good friend Jay. Karma is a dirty bitch, and I buy her a whole lot of drinks.

I almost called in sick to work today, owing to the fact that all my friends have tried to give me the sheep shingles, or the buffalo buboes, or whatever the fuck virus is going around right now. Coyote crabs. Seal scabies. Rhinoceros Rickets. Viper vapors. But try as I might, I simply could not get my temperature to go above 96.8. Damn this superior Germanic constitution of mine.

Anyone who knows me can tell you I loathe children of all ages. I also think, and feel free to disagree with me here, that bike seats for toddlers are possibly the worst idea ever. And those things they make to attach an extra seat and pedals to a large bike just don’t work that well, and frankly just look super dumb. What I saw today on my ride, though, hit me with a wave of nostalgia for my own misspent youth, and the days when Dadoo Climbout was teaching me how to ride my own bike.
A woman on a hybrid, dressed in dour work attire with appropriately ugly safety helmet approached mass ave. cautiously from a cross street. Following along behind her looked like nothing less than her double in slight miniature, but of the opposite sex. She stopped and waited for the light, and when the green was in her favor, motioned for her obvious progeny to proceed along behind her. I was forcibly reminded of a mother goose leading her goslings across a busy street. It was pretty fucking adorable, and it was exactly right. This shining parental example almost makes up for the woman I saw jaywalking against rush hour traffic yesterday dragging her special little snowflake along by the arm, both obviously bound for ballet class. Chalk it up to bad parenting, little ballerina, if you end up ruining your dancing career after a tragic incident involving an SUV, a latte, and an errant text message. I’m a horrible person.

Just an FYI: I didn’t reverse the digits – I just have a naturally low body temp. Fo realz!

Today’s experiment yielded a chap going up the pedestrian ramp, on a bike, suuuuper slowly. I felt a bit bad for him until I passed and realized that he was doing it with one hand because in the other he was holding a cup of Dunk. “The coffee, it’s a handicap!”, I exclaimed. (see: The goggles, they do nothing!) I hope he understood that I was just playing with him. He then proceeded to blow through every red light all the way up Harvard St. in Allston. Holding a coffee. I wish I’d caught his name so I can keep an eye out for it in the police notes.

The second anomaly of today was a large tow truck, marked Brighton Towing, Inc.   The truck swerved into the bike lane to avoid a ‘$100 fine’ standing mid-road sign and was close enough to brush my elbow. At the next red light I hollered “TOO CLOSE!” into  his window, as a public service announcement. I’m nice like that. As he passed me farther on he swerved in toward me threateningly and yelled something out of the window that was entirely unintelligible but obviously negative, so at the NEXT red light I stopped and queried at his window. I’m not sure if his face was just built like that or if he was actually really trying, but he was giving me the most moronic look I’ve ever seen on another human being. Given the amount of reality TV I’ve seen in the past I was not a little bit impressed. He ended his rant of garbled nonsense with ‘why are you riding a bike, are you not right in the head?’…

What does one say to this, really?

What drivers of large vehicles owned by small businesses need to understand is that if they act like idiots on the road, all you or I have to do is stroll inside and google the name of their company. I called Brighton Towing, and I now know that the operator that threatened me goes by the name of Jay. I didn’t go to the police because I don’t really have anything to show (and man do they hate to be bothered unless you’re bleeding), but I DO know how to contact him if I need to, and I know the address of his place of business, and his email address. Good going, Jay. May you land yourself the role of a lifetime in the next season of ‘Traffic Wars’.

If you see a silver convertible BMW with the license plate NCN and a faded pair of Red Sox underneath the plate driving around today, tell the fat entitled bitch behind the wheel that Grimlocke the bike vigilante says Hi. She’ll probably know who you mean. Also remind her that the bike lane is never a casual parking spot, even if you ‘have a child in the car’, because yes, I do indeed have all day, and yes, I will call our good friends the police. Because yes, I am a smartass bitch. I chose it as a hobby because I have a knack. I should have taken a picture of this chubby twit.

On the topic of things I should have taken a picture of – the second person I stopped to be a smartass bitch at today because they were parked in the bike lane was actually a woman with a beard. I just kept riding. Some things you just have to let go.

This Sunday I had a very interesting interaction with a motorist, recreated here to the best of my memory.

I was in the left hand land of Cambridge street heading towards a red light waiting for the right hand land to clear so I could merge over. I decided to stop at the red light and then work my way over to the right after we got moving again, while I was stopping for the red I was honked at. This happens a lot as cars often will look right in front of them instead of down the street and are often embarrassed when they have to stop several feet after they honked at you for “slowing them down.”

I guess when you spend all day staring at the back of the car in front of you, you don’t get in the habit of looking several feet in front of that car to see what the light is doing. You simply move when the car in front of you moves, which in turn moves because the car in front of it did, and so on. The only person actually paying attention is the one at the front of the line, and the one behind that one waiting to lay on the horn if the person in front doesn’t rocket off the start line on the green…but I digress.

I responded to the honking with my usual “turn and give a little smile and kiss” response, designed to enrage point out the idiocy of their behavior. I figured that when we got moving I would move over and I could spend several more awkward red lights with the guy as we made our way to the bridge. But to my dismay he proceed to lay on the horn like it was going out of style the INSTANT the green light came on, giving me no time to move over.

It was a beautiful Sunday, the sun was shinning warmly, and this ASSHOLE was in a total rush to get to the next red light and frankly my rage-o-meter went right off the charts. I came to a complete stop, almost getting myself run over (note to self: don’t do this ever again). I left my bike in the road (note to self: stupid stupid) and went right up to his window (note to self: dumb) ready to downsize this morons face with my U-lock, and as this lug stepped out of his car my brain did something smart (for the first time in this whole confrontation).

He got out of his car and started raving like a lunatic.

Him: “SCREAMSCREAMSDLFKSDFLKSJXCSCREAM!!!”
Me: “whats your name?”
Him: “SCREAMAHHHHHHHHSCREAM”
Me: “whats your name?!” Hand held out
H: “SCREAM!!”
Me: “WHATS your name!?” Hand held out
H: “Ted!”
Me: “Hi Ted my name is…”
Shake
Me: “Ted do you know what will happen to me if you run me over with your car?”
Ted: “You have to be on the right side of the road, you are breaking the law!”
Me: “No I am not, Ted, bicycles are legally allowed to use the full lane, and had you given me the chance I would have moved over, but by honking your horn at me you pissed me off.”
Ted: “You have to move over, I am a cop, I know this!”
Me: “Ted trust me on this you are violating the law by honking at me and almost running me over, If I was a less experienced cyclist I could have lost control of my bike and ended up under your wheels”
Ted: … (he visibly calms down at this point)
Me: “Ted do you have children?
Ted: “I have three children”
Me: “Ted how would you feel if one of them got run over because someone was in a huge rush to get to the next red light, do you want to call my mother and tell her that I am dead because you couldn’t wait a second?”
Ted: “You make a good point”
Me: “It’s a nice Sunday, the sun is out, calm the FUCK DOWN, and give me a bit of space and I will get out of your way” (just because he had calmed down didn’t mean that I had)

He agreed, although I am not sure he was convinced I was able to legally use the left lane, we shook hands, I gave him a pat on the shoulder. I got back on my bike (which was pretty much under his front bumper, god that was stupid of me to stop in the middle of the road like that). I proceeded to the next several red lights, each time getting there shortly after Ted. He went over the bridge into Cambridge and I never saw him again. In essence I had slowed him down only by stopping to talk to him, had he not honked at all he wouldn’t have lost a single moment of his day to “my slowness.”

Instead he almost got my U-lock upside his head, and almost killed me. He was also a sizable gentleman I am sure had there been a tussle I would have suffered a good pounding as well. Overall I was pretty proud of myself that none of that stuff happened, I only wish that we could have these little teachable moments without almost getting run over. Sadly there have been a couple fatalities of cyclists in the area lately, they are rare and therefor shocking (hundreds of people die each year in car crashes). And almost all of them could have been avoided by everyone simply being a little more courteous on the streets.

Ted seemed like an alright guy, not the kind of person that would stab someone, or shoot them, or drown them, a family man and a cop. Get him behind a car, and put a shell of glass and metal around him and he became a monster (and an asshole). Why did he become a murderous crazy person? Because he has to slow down a little. Only when I re-humanized myself in his eyes did he see what he was doing. If someone bumped into you on an elevator, or walked a bit slowly in front of you on the street you would never treat them the way people regularly do when they are behind the wheel.

I assure you, if you hit me with your car, my bones will break, my blood will pour out, my organs will burst, I am a human being, not a speed bump. If you hit me with your car because you are in a hurry you will no longer be a person, you will be a murderer. If you drive a car, and you are reading this, think about your children, think about them lying dead and broken under the wheels of an automobile. The cyclist in front of you is someones child, someones brother, someones son or daughter, someones lover. All of these people care deeply about that cyclist, love them, will cry for them if they are dead. Imagine someone taking your loved ones away from you, or hurting them, or scaring them, or just being mean to them… Is it really worth it just so you can get to that next red light slightly faster?

Remember this, score one for the good guys, right?

And they’ve also repaved N. Harvard Street, so fresh and so smooth, complete with bike lanes! oh yay!

Oh… wait.

There are also signs like this posted all along this lane.

But nobody seems to care.

Great work, guys.

Gosh, you all are boring.

Picture this: I’m five foot two, and I wear glasses. The “Archie” comics teach that no one should ever hit a girl who wears glasses, let alone a petite one.

I was on my way home from a few too many drinks at Redbones, the oasis of beers and cycling sponsorship in Davis Square, when my friend and I happened to notice a fellow in a suit mumbling and sprawling boozily on the ground, with a girl nearby urging him to get up. I unlocked my bike and was intending to be on my way, but we speculated whether the extremely drunk gentleman we had seen would even begin to imagine that he could drive his car.

We circled the parking lot, and the next thing we saw was the idiot getting into the driver’s seat. Needless to say, a falling-down drunk should not drive! I was tipsy too, which probably emboldened me to step in. I pulled over and suggested that they get a cab.

I forgot that this is America, and you can’t anyone how to do anything, least of all if it involves their vehicle. The slobbering drunk proceeded to unleash a torrent of insults at me.

I wasn’t impressed with this aggressive dumbass’s attempts to trod me down, so as an inherent provocateur, I encouraged him to keep going with the fuckcockery until he could come up with something really good. He started in with the “bike gang” stuff, and even the “gay” hoopla, and then threatened to hit me. Me, girl in glasses! Well, come on, dude, do it! I’ll gladly see you go to jail.

My friend, to her credit, who is much taller than me and significantly more imposing, decided to step in before I found a way to cajole the pathetic drunk into making me have a whole bunch of unwanted appointments with my dentist. They didn’t get along too well either, unsurprisingly.

The final result? Said drunk spit forth another slew of words, his girlfriend seemed to suspect that she might want to drive home rather than him, and I wondered what the fuck I was doing, yet again trying to help right the world. Always a bad idea to get involved.

If a drunken fool gets behind the wheel, ideally, he would only kill himself. Unfortunately that’s not usually the case. I don’t want to be killed by such a fucking idiot, I don’t want anyone I know to suffer that fate, or anyone else – at all – period. But did we do any good? I don’t think so. We just got more hate.

So, readers, what would you have done? Patrick O’Grady, amazingly, has a bit of input about cyclists and punching.

Pleasantly, “The Heart of the Matter” is on television. Ah, Graham Greene. What would he make of my minor ethical scruples?

Oh yes – the license plate is 54S P57, Massachusetts plate.

For anyone who didn’t see the excellent New York Times article about escalating tempers in the ongoing struggle for turf between cyclists and automobiles, DO read it. It addresses many of the issues about which I have been quietly fuming all summer.

Some interesting words:

“The bottom line, say driving behavior experts, is that the learning curve has just begun… Therefore, the turmoil will abate when enough cyclists are on the road, so that everyone learns to share the space. As in Amsterdam. Or Davis, Calif., where nearly 15 percent of the population cycles daily.”

Oh please, may the day come sooner when cyclists will be just part of normal traffic. For the moment, I continue to be stunned about the loathing drivers have for cyclists – though I really shouldn’t be, considering responses to the Bella English article in The Boston Globe earlier this summer. This week too, like many readers, I followed BikeSnobNYC’s link to a response by Mini drivers to his criticism of their … mininess. Even what I had assumed to be liberal-minded Mini drivers project a vicious glee while discussing ways they and other drivers can endanger the lives of cyclists.

Everyone, let’s take a moment to visit the website of Ross Dillon. He was a 25-year-old cyclist, about to start law school and planning his imminent wedding, who was riding well within a bike lane when he was hit by a driver. Six years later, he can sort of manage to stand up on his own.

Is that really what they want to do to us?

I’ve only read 86 of the four-hundred-some comments on the Bella English article “If only drivers would share the road, bicycling would be safer” and I feel pretty darn gloomy.

As I see it, there are a few facts. (1) Cyclists are allowed on the roads. (2) In Massachusetts, cyclists are not allowed on the sidewalks. (3) Legally, cars and bicycles are expected to share the road.

There are a few obvious corollaries. Namely, that a person in a car is protected by a heavy motorized object, while a cyclist is relatively unprotected, wearing only a helmet and clothing (whether or not you like their outfit).

So far as I can imagine, no person on a cyclist will ever be able to injure a person in a car through the use of their bicycle. But cars can definitely injure and kill cyclists in a collision.

Normally, in the course of human indeavor, we have not found it acceptable to threaten or kill another human being just because we don’t like the way they do things or the way they look. Yet, somehow, people who drive cars often seem to think that is is acceptable to threaten, injure, or even kill a person on a bicycle merely because they have chosen to ride a bicycle (and wear lycra!). Which is a perfectly legal activity. (In both cases.)

Some of the comment-makers on that piece say that we just don’t have the infrastructure to support cyclists at this time. So what are we supposed to do – stop cycling until the infrastructure comes? Obviously, the more we cycle, the more the infrastructure will prove necessary, and our neighborhoods will have to be re-engineered. But if we stop cycling and twiddle our thumbs, waiting until the kindness and generosity of drivers brings about these infrastructure changes, then it will never happen.

After all, we have done fuck-all about improving our infrastructure in so far as our complete reliance on gasoline, despite decades of warnings about environmental and pricing issues. So far as that goes, we’re pretty much fucked. And yet, I’m supposed to believe that we’re going to make infrastructure changes to keep cyclists out of the way of cars? So that all these hostile people can keep driving? I don’t think so.

You know, I’m out there riding my bicycle, NOT driving my car. I’m not buying gas, and I’m not burning it. And yes, I pay excise taxes and I pay all the usual crap that drivers do, because do I have a car. But I am not cluttering up the roads or poisoning the environment with MY car. I should be given a medal, just like all cyclists, for commuting in a way that reduces greenhouse emissions, does less damage to roads, and does nothing to increase our national addiction to gasoline.

All those vicious bicycle-haters are undoubtedly hoping that they can keep driving their cars until kingdom-come. Everyone else will have to stop driving, not them. Will they stop when gap prices go to $5 a gallon? $6? $10? That day may come, and there may be a hell of a lot more people trying to learn how to ride a bicycle on shared roads at that point.

I hope they bite their words from this article’s debate. And that they don’t kill anybody until then.

One of the cyclists injured in the crash described in the following article comes into the shop where I work. He’s a delightful fellow, very engaging and kind. I was horrified to hear of this accident, and I saw the remains of the bikes he brought in to have assessed for insurance purposes. It takes a lot to bend a titanium bike; his was ruined. His friend’s was even worse.

The article is alarming, but even more maddening are the comments. I am only halfway through and am feeling pretty bad. But a few interesting quotes to pull up:

“Virtually all bikers are drivers as well so we have the benefit of seeing BOTH sides of the coin.”

“This is the only region I know where it is a point of pride to be rude. When that rudeness is employed in driving it becomes dangerous, and often, frankly, criminal.”

“Make adult bike riders pay excise taxes too.” (We do.)

“So it seems, based on the comments here, that drivers resent cyclists for not always obeying traffic laws (just like drivers who change lanes without using a signal, make illegal u-turns, speed, double park, etc., etc., etc.); and that cyclists are hostile to drivers because cyclists would prefer not to be killed or maimed by a car. Those cyclists are so gosh-darn unreasonable!”

“Drivers must be more careful because the consequences of their mistakes or angry reactions can be so high. Surely, despite the animosity you feel toward those whose biking fashion is not to your liking, you don’t want them to pay with their lives and limbs for their yellow shirts and tight shorts?”

I’m only at comment 85. My brain is boiling.

Maybe I should quit this stupid sport. The car/bike war is very disturbing.

His reply:

“I know that I’ve never met you, but perhaps the reason your customers are so hostile is that they are picking up on your own negativity and defensiveness.”

What a bland, idiotic reply.

My customers are normally quite polite, except for those few who come in with an air of entitlement, can’t meet my eyes, and treat me like I must be a stupid moron for working in a bike shop. I don’t even upsell those people. And I earn $11 and get no commission.

Maybe if you weren’t an insulting jackass, I wouldn’t tell you that you were being an insulting jackass. Are you insulted that I’m telling you that you’re rude? Good.

This comes, unfortunately, one day after I worked with a woman so difficult and rude that I had to walk away and find her another salesperson. Maybe I’m a little sensitive. But am I wrong?

I like Diesel Café. I really do. It’s kind of like my second office. I have no beef whatsoever with a single thing about the place. Except for some of the customers.

I’m usually inclined to visit the Davis Square spot in the early afternoon when it’s relatively quiet. Today I was dumb enough to come in mid-afternoon. First I sparred with an older lady for a table – clearly, she would win even though I was there first. Then a younger dude stole the next table when I had been at the first table first! Then there’s a third table – covered with crap. I ask the woman next to it, who is sitting at a raised table – “Is anyone here?” She hasn’t noticed. It’s kinda hard for anyone to take the apparently empty table because she has been parking her coat there. So I clear the table. All of this is done in clattery bike shoes. These are not ideal for strolling around on lacquered plywood surfaces.

Then the woman on the high table gets up to try to go to another table, muttering something about “Oh, that’s not free.” Did you want the low table? I ask. I.e., the one I just colonized. “If you don’t mind,” she says. At this point I’m thinking, can I be any more malleable? Would you like me to squat on all fours so that you can sit on me as a pleasant, if slightly bony, heated chair, now that I’ve I cleared the empty table that you had been hogging?

Muttering something about how “It’s not okay to use TWO tables,” I moved to the raised table. Which, incidentally, is tippy. Not apparently adequately noticing my annoyance, this woman has rotated her chair to face me, and she’s put her fucking precious feet up. She’s writing in her journal, I think, which quite fairly is hardly a step down from writing a blog entry about how the woman next to you got stuck in the 80s fashion-wise and how I don’t want to have to see her ugly hiking boots, much less her mullet, from my spot at the high table which I courteously ceded to her.

Grumble.

Fuck this shit. I don’t have enough heating oil for snow! I don’t have enough fucking anti-depressants to handle the forecast for the next few days! Call the folks at McLane, I’m coming in.

BTW, there is a beautiful shot in “The Conformist,” which I reviewed the other day, when the main character visits his father in the courtyard of an insane asylum on what looks like a Greek stage, with rows of benches behind. The father is wearing a straight jacket but it’s untied. He shouts at his pathetic son, then stands up straight and whips the many-feet-long sleeves of his dark jacket through the air and around his back, in expectation of the attendant coming to buckle him up. It’s kind of gorgeous.

But my description doesn’t really work so well.

I hit a woman’s car a few weeks ago. She looked like she was going to go through a stop sign, then changed her mind. And now I am BAD and must be PUNISHED.

At least that’s the way insurance works in this country. I will now look forward to having increased rates and all that shit for several years, because I barely dinked the back of her car.

Now, I can understand that one would be annoyed if I hit your car and there is damage. This woman called it “considerable” damage. The little plastic bumper was shoved in one inch. You want considerable? You go see my friend’s father in the hospital with the concave part of his head where they had to take out parts of the skull so his brain could swell. Then you can rethink the use of the word “considerable.”

So I offered to pay out of pocket, in order to avoid the insurance shit. One way or another, one minute of inattention will cost me upwards of four figures. So I have decided thatI HATE the fucking bitch who I hit. It’s my right. I hate having to give money to her when she OWNS a giant house. (I managed to hit her right across from it.) She doesn’t need the goddamn money, and the stupid ugly car was no prize anyway, and runs fine without repair (I damaged my car too, but it still works, so fuck it.). And I am NOT a bad person because I hit her. These things happen. That’s the way it goes.

Even if these things do just happen, I still resent this whole situation. It’s so meaningless. I would rather give the money for the goddamn car repair to a charity. It’s a waste to spend it to fix a non-issue of a bump. And this poor lady doesn’t want to have to call the insurance company to withdraw the claim. Ohhh, so much effort you have to do! You shouldn’t have to do any effort to make this all go away, because it’s all my fault!

Listen, I’m paying, so FUCK YOU.

Lastly:

Fucking bitch is going to file the claim anyway. Her insurance person told that I might not pay, the check might not clear, whatever. And there might be future medical issues, would I be responsible for that? It’s always nice to be assumed to be a deadbeat when I think that I am more or less the opposite of that. I don’t even cheat on my taxes. And as for medical, don’t make me laugh. I have pulled more muscles by howling in rage at the telephone after this woman called.

Well, I hope you’re happy. Now I can be punished. And I consider all the ways in which this is a waste of both of our time and money.

And for some drum roll:

This is why people like me have blogs.

After some fuming, I find my fender bendee’s response to be totally reasonable. So, I hope, is mine.

Until I find some kind of imaginary “inner peace,” the blog is a much better alternative to actually throttling people.

So, a girl walks into a CVS to pick up two prescriptions – one for an anti-anxiety pill for herself and the other a heart medication for her cat. She walks out with neither, and an unhealthy buildup of annoyance.

I swear, if I wasn’t already needing the crazy pills, this drug store chain would make me nuts. I surpressed a strong desire to throttle the TWO idiots who couldn’t explain to me WHY I couldn’t refill a prescription that I had refilled online. Okay, how come your fancy system let me refill it? And YES, it’s for a CAT, not for me, and what difference does it make if I paid in cash last time? And why do you need MY date of birth for a CAT’s prescription?

Okay, it sounds pretty tame now, but it was maddening, I swear. So much so that I will try to avoid all CVS stores in future. This might present some problems here in the northeast, where they’re pretty much ubiquitous. But today, I took my business to Walgreens instead, which is a pretty damn sorry store, if you ask me. It just depresses me to go in there. But still, it’s not CVS.

As for the crazy pills, how nice of the doctor to ignore my request and send it to another store entirely. That means I WILL have to go to a CVS to get that refill. But not even one near my home.

It’s true, I don’t suffer fools gladly. I have very little tolerance for stupidity.

My “Grievances” post (last month or so) seems to have attracted the kind of traffic I didn’t want. Though, to be fair, what did I want? Basically, I wanted to set the record straight for my own personal satisfaction and benefit. Because generally I find it maddening to have been treated wrongly or unfairly, and the occasions of that kind of scenario are so numerous and repetitive that they tend to clog my waking mind. So I spat it all out at once rather than let it continue to ruin what should be my placid and soothing bike rides. There are obviously people I can pay to listen to me bitch about this unnecessary bullshit, and believe me I do, but apparently we can count Typepad among my various theraputic options. It’s probably not a very good choice, but who can fault me for not making good choices every single time? Hmmmmmmm???????

Anyway, the traffic I have gotten seems to be lot of people googling themselves. Over. And. Over. And. Over. Again. So finally I decided to take out out all the last names from my, I might add, very satisfying rant (when I wrote it). I guess naming names is a bad idea.

Now.

Please!

LAY THE FUCK OFF!

As for the “placid and soothing,” I can assure you that no ride will ever actually achieve that goal. Not while I still have a brain attached to my poor aching shoulders.