I got up on the wrong side of the bed today. More specifically, I had 20 minutes to get ready for work and to the CVS to pick up a script. However, as I was pulling my motorcycle (whom I’ve named D.D, which is short for doomsday) some dude 9Latino with a goatee and an eyebrow ring) backed out of a door with a huge trash bin. I tried to swerve but I was in an alley and there was nowhere to go but into a wall, so I dropped the bike. I freaking dropped the bike in it’s side, like a totally noob.
Frazzled, I picked it back up with the help of the dude and I explained,
"I’m late for work. It’s just not my day."
"You can’t rush," he said, looking me up and down.
So I get to CVS and there’s a line. There’s never a line. Dangit.
The near-grandfather-age white dude in front of me is rocking out with obscenely large headphones that look like Beats by Dre knock-offs. When he gets to the pharmacists he’s yelling because he doesn’t take them off. What a wiener.
I finally get my script and I rush out the door with my helmet already on my head. As I approach my bike, this guy is getting out of his car, presumably to go to CVS, right? No. He wants to talk. To me. Great. Doesn’t take the hint that I’m getting on my bike, inserting the key, buckling my helmet.
"How much did that cost you?" He asks. He’s about 6 feet tall, pretty stocky/almost fat. Of some indeterminate race or races. Light-skinned but probably tans fine, flat nose, beady brown eyes, reddish hair that looks like really tight curls, but it’s pretty short so I can’t tell.
I tell him how much it costs (which I don’t feel like mentioning here).
"Yeah? That’s a good deal!" He decides,
"Yup." Monosyllabic and monotone.
"You like riding that thing?"
"It’s in great shape."
"Just a little banged up over here." He points to a dent on the gas tank. "You get in an accident?"
"Oh shit. When was that?"
"About three weeks ago."
"T-boned in a hit and run."
"Wow. Shit. That sucks."
"Yup." At this point I lean forward and fiddle with the bike. Hint hint.
"Were you wearing that helmet?"
"No. Another one." Why am I still answering him?
"How much did the new one cost." Does he really give a shit?
I tell him.
"That’s a good deal!"
Finally he gets the hint that I’m trying to leave.
"Can I call you sometime?"
"No. Definitely not." I blurt out.
"Okay, cool cool." He starts to turn back to his car.
"Men are bad." I randomly add.
Then I flipped down my visor, revved the engine, and got the hell out of there.