derakh

Ground Zero
2010-06-18 06:46:36 (UTC)

Another Story

Who does that?- 9/9/08

I ride a bike to work as transportation. I stopped drive
when I moved to Portland at age seventeen. I didn't see a
need to drive or own a car when I had access to such
excellent public transit. I still drove my mother's truck
every now and then when I was down to visit her. By the time
I was twenty five I pretty much was happy to be driven
around instead of driving myself. Eric didn't even bother to
get a driver's license. I still had one, I just never used it.
I started biking to work in October of 2007. I was working
nights at an area called the South Waterfront. The whole
area was recently developed as there was little public
transit options and it was a pretty long walk to get there
from my apartment at the North Waterfront area. I didn't
particularly want to walk six miles round trip five nights a
week.
When purchasing my first road bike, I decided to start
small and went with a women's road bike on sale for about
one hundred and fifty dollars at Wal-Mart. I had looked
around at the local bike shops and everything was more than
five hundred. None of it was for beginners. I would later
face ridicule from several snobbish bicycle shop employees
about my end bike but I still stand by my decision to start
out small. I just couldn't justify setting Eric and i back
that much on something I wasn't sure I would continue to use.
I had owned my bike just short of a year when I was riding
to work one night along the waterfront park area. It was
around ten-thirty at night. I had to be at work at eleven. I
generally didn't see too many people along the waterfront.
It gets very cold and windy at night. Mostly I would see a
few couples standing near the rail kissing and being all
mushy. Its nauseatingly cliche how many people go to the
waterfront at night for that reason.
Every so often I would see a group of drunken high school
or college kids wandering around. Drunks have the most
amazing sense of entitlement. They weave their way along a
fourteen foot wide pathway, completely blocking all
pedestrian and bicycle traffic going both ways. Should you
dare to try to go around them without having to ride on the
lawn prepare yourself for one of the females in the group to
scream as if you had thrown a tarantula in her hair. A lot
of the men will shout insults at you. All of this will
probably happen no matter how slowly you try to creep past
them or how loudly you try to announce yourself. I have come
up on people and literally shouted "On your left!" and had
the entire group look up in the air as if I was Tarzan
swinging in from a tree on the left. Its amazing how
completely unaware of their surroundings some people can get.
On this particular night I didn't really encounter a lot of
people on the northern part of the park. As I got near the
south end I saw two men who looked like they were drunk and
play pushing each other around. When I was about forty feet
from them, they separated and each went to one side of the
path leaving me no where to ride by between them. They were
both looking back at me and I had a bright blinking light
pointed right at them. I wasn't going very fast, ten miles
an hour, maybe. I figured they were just going to watch me
go by then continue being morons and shoving each other. As
I got within ten feet of them, one of them whipped a beer
bottle from behind his back and threw it on the ground right
in front of me. There was no way I could stop and I had no
where to go but between them and over the glass.
Immediately I heard a pop and felt air hissing out of my
rear tire against the back of my left. I heard laughter
erupt behind me. I was instantly furious. I slammed on my
brakes and jumped off of my bike, letting it fall sideways
to the ground. I went stomping toward them shouting
obscenities. I was going to hit the guy who threw the bottle
right in the face. I am not a violent person by nature. In
most cases if you leave me alone, I will happily ignore you
as well. Unfortunately I did inherit my father's short
temper. When angered I will become extremely belligerent and
hostile. The only thought in my mind was to break open this
guys head and listen to the air hiss out like he had done to
my bike.
I don't know exactly what those two ingrates expected would
happen after they intentionally blew out someone's tire with
a beer bottle, but I don't think they thought I would
immediately come to take it out of their asses. As I was
stomping toward them one said "Oh shit" and they both turned
and ran away from me. I didn't really have time to chase
them through the park and I wasn't about to leave my bike
alone while I chased them. I settled for shouting a string
of obscenities at them regarding their mothers.
Here I am more than a mile from my job with a completely
flat tire. I still had thirty minutes to get to work so I
had some time to drag my poor injured bike behind me. I
started walking and called my supervisor. Thankfully Hansen
was working, he is very understanding about crazy things
happening to people that can prevent them from getting to
work exactly on time. Besides, I am a bit obsessive about
being on time and not missing work unless its absolutely
unavoidable. I will even go to a job I hate every single day
because I just can't seem to overcome my work ethics. Curse
my parents for their morals!
"Hi Hansen, its Fisher... so you won't believe what just
happened to me..." I recounted the story to him as I
continued to walk toward work, my bicycles flat squeaking
like a rusty screen door blowing in the wind.
"You're kidding... really?" Hansen exclaimed "Do you want to
file a police report?"
I didn't see the point to filing any reports really. It had
been very dark and I was so blinded by rage that I could
have easily inflicted serious bodily harm on them both. If
they were caught, they could tell the police all the
excellent threats I had screamed at them like a crazy woman.
I mean hell, I had threatened to castrate them both with the
glass. Not good material for a court case.
I was so irate even after talking to my boss that I decided
to call my mother and vent some more. Thankfully my family
are all a bunch of night people. My mother was awake. I
launched into a swear word filled explanation of why I was
so pissed off. Most people wouldn't dream of saying four
lettered colorful words in the same county as their mother.
My mother swears more than I do, though so I am able to get
away with a lot. Its great.
"God what a bunch of assholes." She responded after
listening to my story. I can always count on my mother to
share my sentiment when it comes to idiots doing stupid things.
I managed to get to work right at eleven. I had called
ahead and warned Tawny that I might possibly be late. She
didn't mind sticking around in case I was late. I told her
the story of what happened before she left. She was as
baffled as my supervisor. Why would a person intentionally
throw a beer bottle at a random bicyclist with the some
purpose of blowing out their tires? Its not the same sort of
destruction as graffiti. At least with graffiti its a
surprise. You don't run the risk of enraging the victim on
the spot and getting your head kicked in for it, either.

***

The next morning when the lead concierge, Lisa arrived at
work I told her about what had happened to me the night
before. Her fiance is also a bicyclist and I figured she
could pass on the warning to him. "Wow, some people... " She
said "I have a great bike story for you about Brian."
She told me that Brian had been riding his bicycle along
the river path farther south of where I had been. The area
on the South Waterfront has beach access. A long boardwalk
runs down the length of the river roughly ten feet back from
the water and every fifty feet or so there is a set of
stairs leading down to the water.
Brian was riding down the boardwalk to meet Lisa for lunch
when the bolt holding the seat of his bike to the frame
snapped. The seat came loose and Brian fell off the back of
the bike and landed on his ass on the boardwalk. His bike
kept going and veered off the pathway and flew off the edge
into the water at the edge of the river. He had to wade into
the water to retrieve it.
Brian tried to call Lisa to pick him and his bike up, but
she was in a meeting with her phone off. He had to carry his
bike and its seat almost a mile to get to the Atwater. They
didn't even get to go lunch because Brian had to take his
bike to the shop to get it fixed so he could ride it to work
later that day.
I have to admit that Brian's experience would have been
hilarious to watch. I would have been impossible for me to
keep from hewhawing if I had seen some guys bike literally
come apart under him and fall in the river. Although it
wasn't as if my tire had fallen off. Some idiot had chucked
a beer bottle at me. I was still grateful to Lisa for the
laugh though. It made the chore of having to haul my poor
bike on public transit to the bike shop a little less of a
drudgery.
I got home from work an hour late because of the public
transit. Eric grinned at me from around his computer screen.
"How's it going, hon?" He asked
When I had said goodbye to him the night before he had had
sideburns and a three inch goatee with about a week's worth
of scruff growing on his cheeks. I did a double take at him
when he smiled at me. He was completely clean shaven. When
Eric bothers to shave its an event worthy of t-shirts. He
just can't be bothered with it. Can't say I blame him.
"What happened to your fuzz?" I asked, trying not to be
agitated with having to ride the bus home. He shrugged and
said that he had caught half his facial hair on fire at work
the night before so he decided to finish the job.
Ah yes. Singed hair. One of the perks of Eric's foundry
job. He frequently comes with patches of his hair missing,
smelling like a human barbecue. I used to be shocked when
things like that would happen to him. Now its a bit amusing.
My nice toasted spouse. "Oh, lovely." I grumbled.
I think my face gave away my foul mood. I am one of those
people whose thoughts are written clearly on their face.
That is likely why the boneheads from the night before had
run away so quickly. Murder had been written in neon letters
on my forehead.
"Bad day?" Eric asked.
I nodded and recounted the story again. We discussed how to
change a rear bicycle tire. Neither of us had actually ever
done it before. I got on the Internet and read about it. It
didn't seem too difficult. I got out our bike tools and
started trying to loosen the nuts. They were tightened
beyond my strength. Eric is very strong so I asked him to
try. Neither of us could even budge the nuts. They were on
so tight that Eric nearly stripped one trying to loosen it.
Apparently the strongest person on the planet put my bike
together.
This all happened at a time when Eric and I were living
paycheck to paycheck. Student loans will kill your
recreation funds. We were both a day or two out from getting
a paycheck. I think we had forty dollars between us and I
had about sixty dollars left on my credit card before it was
maxed out. We usually managed our money better, but we just
sucked on this particular day.
We started trying to hash out a plan on how we could swing
transportation to work for both of us until someone got
paid. I worked three miles from our apartment with no
public transit options. Eric worked about a mile and a half
from our apartment with an option to ride the streetcar home
in the morning if needed. Since I worked father away, Eric
wanted me to ride his bike to work and he would just walk on
the way there each night, then ride the streetcar back in
the morning. This would hold us for two days until we had
the money to get my tire fixed.
After we had worked out a plan, we decided that we could
both use a latte. Considering that Eric had a close
encounter with fire and I had a run in with a beer bottle.
It had been such a sucky night for both of us.
On the way out of our apartment building Eric twisted his
ankle. I am totally serious. We went down the rear stairs
that we always go down. On the second stair from the bottom
he tripped over nothing and fell down the last step, in the
process he rolled his ankle and crashed his shoulder into
the wall in front of the stairs.
I was about two steps ahead of him and had just turned the
corner at the bottom of the stairs when I heard the carpet
scrape and a loud thump as Eric crashed into the wall. I
turned around quickly to see Eric doubled over, bracing
himself against the wall with his hand. I just stood there
dumbly looking at him as he erupted into half giggles, half
yelps of pain.
"I can't...I can't believe...I just...fell down two
stairs." Eric breathed. I burst into laughter. I couldn't
believe he had fallen down two stairs either. Especially
when you consider that he had been coming up and down this
flight of stairs for over two years.
We stood there in the hallway cackling hysterically for
several minutes before we were able to pull it together and
go outside. We waddled our way toward Starbucks, stopping
every few feet to double over in laughter. The people around
us on the street were staring and trying to avoid us by
crossing the street. We were hysterical.
About halfway to Starbucks we had calmed down enough that I
was able to tell Eric about Brian's bike seat story. When I
told him that Brian's bike had fallen into the river, he
must have stepped on his injured ankle wrong. He burst into
laughter, then suddenly yelped in pain and fell over into
the bushes and all but disappeared except for his feet.
I pretty much lost it at the sight of just his feet
sticking out of the foliage and the leaves shaking as he
laid there in the bushes laughing. "So...I guess ...you
can't...walk to work now..." I huffed.
"You're...fuckin' up my chi damn it..." Eric giggled feebly
from the bushes.
People around us must have surely thought we were drunk.
Its probably better that they did, at least alcohol is a
valid cause for hysterical laughter and falling down.
We made it to Starbucks and home again without any other
incidents. Although we joked the whole way about other
ridiculous things that could happen to us. Some of the
scenarios included being attacked by squirrels or being
abducted by aliens and being anally probed.
When I arrived home I decided to just bite the bullet and
call the bike shop to find out how much it would set me back
to have them pry the damn tire off and change the innertube
for me. I was told it would be about sixteen dollars for the
parts and labor. Oh, geese. That's it? I pictured a much
larger amount, closer to fifty dollars. I figure, hell,
screw it. His Gracefulness, Eric, had managed to twist his
ankle twice that day.
I walked my wheezing bike to the local bike shop. I had to
endure the usual raised eyebrows and snooty glances at my
inexpensive bike as I explained to the counter help what
happened the night before. Bike people are such snobs. Save
yourself the headache and just spend the eight hundred
dollars on a bicycle if you decide to ever purchase one. At
least the other bike people will treat you better.
The bike mechanic who came out to get my bike was
surprising polite. So far he is the first bike person who
hasn't been rude to me because my bike is cheap. He told me
give him twenty minutes to get everything changed.
Fifteen minutes later he reappears from the back room
carrying my rear tire with him. The glass has slashed
several two-inch holes in the tire along with puncturing the
innertube. "Yeah, you are going to need a new tire too. This
thing is mangled." He said apologetically.
He led me over to a rack with about a hundred bicycle tires
are hanging. I explained to him that I was on a small
budget. He nodded and started searching through the rack to
find me something in my price range. He continued to dig
through the racks. I noticed he kept looking at one
particular tire. "What's that one you keep grabbing?" I asked.
He sighed. "Well, the tire you had was about in ninety
dollar range. Considering how often you ride I think this
one will last you a while, even if its not quite the quality
of what you had."
I was a bit baffled to learn that the two tires on my
bicycle actually cost more than I had paid for the whole
thing. "Screw it." I sighed. "Lets go with that one then, I
will just max out my credit card. I need this bike."
"Okie dokie." He said and disappeared into the back.
In the end I had been right in assuming it would cost me
more than fifty dollars to get my bicycle fixed. When the
mechanic returned my bicycle to me he said "You seemed to be
having such a rough day, I threw in a small tune up for
you." Nice bike people do exist! That mechanic helps to
counter-balance the world against the bottle lobbing shitheads.




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