Escalate

So, I’m hauling a trailer over to West Seattle to drop it off at Aaron’s Bike Repair which, having sold two of the rigs, now qualifies as the nation’s number one Haulin’ Collin retailer, and so, I’m moving pretty slowly, especially on the uphills, but I’m doing my best to be aware of cars in the vicinity and stay out of their ways, although at this junction, I’ve got to take the lane so I can bear left onto Fauntleroy.

The light is red so I figure this is a good time to make my move and I do so, pulling up to the intersection and planting myself in the lane.  At this point, some guy in a truck behind me starts honking and waving his arms.  I turn around to see what his problem is and he rolls down the window and yells, “You don’t impede traffic on a bike!”

At first, I try to calmly explain to him that I’m not impeding traffic; the light is red; there’s nowhere for him to go anyway.

“You don’t impede traffic on a bike!” he yells again.

Impressed as I am with his vocabulary—it sounds like he’s quoting from a Driver’s Ed pamphlet—I can’t help but feel my gorge rising.

“I’m not fucking impeding anything!” I yell back.  “The light’s red and besides, I have a right to the lane!”

Now he pulls up alongside me in the other lane.  “Asshole!” he screams.  “You don’t impede traffic on a bike!”

The light turns green and I start to pedal away.  “Fuck you!” I retort.

He punches the accelerator and roars off.  “Get a car!” he yells.

“Suck my dick!” I scream back.

As I head down the street, watching sidestreets warily for his return, I think that I probably could have handled the interaction better.  I shouldn’t have gotten so mad. And I shouldn’t have yelled “Suck my dick!”

“Kiss my ass!” would have been fine.