Saturday musings. Random shit pops into my head and today…it’s one thing that annoys the everloving piss out of me:
You pedestrians, cyclists, walkers, dog walkers and motorists…yeah, YOU. Entitled, the whole lot of ya.
Mr. Pedestrian – There you are crossing the street in front of my car. Hi – I have a car. I could crush you. A felony, albeit, but maybe instead of acting all self-righteous and entitled, you could scoot your caboose across the street. You move, I move. Sense of urgency. I remind you: I could crush you.
Mr. Cyclist – Share the Road (I even have the license plates on my car). Share the motherfucking road. Two wheels are not better than four. They’re all wheels. Stop riding two or three-wide into traffic lanes, bike paths and zipping through stop signs. I ride, too. Don’t be a dick and make the rest of us look bad. You want to take rides without stopping? Head to the hills.
Miss/Mrs. Walker – You and your mobile coffee clutch are in my way. You stroll three wide across Wash Park paths and your collective ass is so big that (1) I can’t see around you, and (2) you’re in the bike lane. I have a bike. I could hit you. It wouldn’t feel good. I could wreck into your collective ass and that would suck even more, because my bike costs more than your Merona-by-Target stretchy pants. Stay in the pedestrian lane. Please.
The Dog Walkers – You are walking around with an animal on a string. I have two dogs – I get it. But when runners and cyclists are using the same path as you and your herd, get that shit under control. Walk your pups on the RIGHT SIDE (for fuck sake), which puts them out of the passing lane. Save a pup, save some legs, save some wheels. Don’t be a pretentious animal-on-a-string person.
Motorists – I am one of them. I give three feet to pass (even though it’s kinda hard when you’re riding two or three wide). But you – you think you’re special with your ignition, fancy motor and blinking lights. Cyclists share the road as well – it’s law here in Colorado – whether you like it or not. Go ahead and drive like a vigilante, teaching those snotty little spandex-clad cyclists a lesson. It’s all fun and games until you hit one. Game. Over.