Reading the Rules

Honestly, Mr. Frat Boy**, if you're going to insist that I 'read the code', you might want to familiarize yourself with it first. I suggest you start with the part about not using your car as an outlet for your aggression. Let's hope that the nice police officer I spoke with explained it to you.

**I do not in fact know that the driver of (VA) WYS 7445 was a frat boy, but he sure fit the stereotype.

The Things People Say

What is it about people that they can't admit they've made a mistake? Actually, not just that, but making up something absurd just to try and be right?

Take this morning. Walking my daughter to school as I normally do, I came to the T-intersection at the end of our street. We turned to cross the 'stem' of the 'T' just as a pickup truck was approaching from the branch on the far side. The truck feigned a stop (he did better than my wife normally does, so no foul there) but then proceeded to turn towards us. He was looking straight at me, and as I continued across the street, he started to swerve into the oncoming traffic lane, but then he decided to stop. As I passed, he rolled down his window, and I braced myself for the usual nonsense about being more careful, or whatever.

"You need to be on the other side," he said.

Um, what?

More and more, this is my response to people who decide to engage me in such situations. That is, they say something so goofy that I can't even figure out what they think they mean, more or less respond. So I end up just saying, "You need to be more careful." Or whatever.

Did he think I had to cross the one leg of the 'T' before I could turn up the hill? Did he think I was supposed to go around the fire hydrant? Did he want me to go around behind his truck? What on earth could be going through his mind that he thinks a pedestrian doesn't have the right-of-way crossing the street?

Or did he just think that it was my job to stay out of his way, and he made up whatever crazy rule he could think of to justify himself?

A Name to the Face

About a month ago, I was the victim of serious verbal abuse from what turns out to be a local lost cause in the making. Police were called; nothing happened; I had mostly put it out of my mind. Until an odd coincidence.

The story started on a ride home on a Friday afternoon. Riding down Rose Hill Drive, through one of Charlottesville's many examples of crappy bike planning, I got the popular honk and engine rev from the driver of a white SUV. As usual, I noted the license plate, an easy to remember "2 BAB", and carried on.

Sure enough, as I was passing by Walker Upper Elementary, there was the SUV (remember the license plate? Not too hard, that one.) I gave the driver a good look and kept on riding. A minute later at 4-way stop by the whale tail, I realized the SUV was following me, and the driver, a young, fat punk starts with the usual epithets: "Fuck off, faggot." etc., etc. And I wasn't even wearing lycra (at that point in time).

Until then, I had chalked up the episode to the typical idiocy, but when I get treated as such, I don't have much trouble letting people know that their behavior is unacceptable. So I rode back over to Walker, where the SUV was again parked. It turns out the kid was there to help his father fix a second vehicle.

So I rode by, loudly repeating the license plate and was met with the usual taunts of "Come back, asshole!"

So, I did. 

Then it was father's turn to unleash on me. I questioned their motivation for a while but finally decided to leave after Senior came at me with clenched fists for the second time. (Ironically, Junior whined at one point about me making a gesture at him "back there on Rose Hill" -- had the Neanderthals been willing to listen, they could have learned that it's easier to look behind you when you take your arm off the handlebar -- too bad they were busy trying to get in a fight.)

The police were called, story relayed, but I never heard back as to the results of the visit the police said they were going to make.

Now, cut to a few days ago, when a young Barry Booth was arrested in connection with an assault on the corner. I thought I recognized the face, and a quick web search showed not only a budding rap sheet, but also a connection to Barry A. Booth (aka, "BAB"), presumably the patriarch of the family.

I'm sure Pa is so proud...