Getting older and having a family means responsibility. it means having to swallow your anger and pride and not slamming your car door into the guy on the bike next to you who is being a total ass. It means not blowing your top and running him and his rice burner over.
Motorcycles… I have mixed feelings about them. I didn’t know that about myself until today. I think there are 2 types of riders. The snotty ass jerks and the normal decent guys. Usually this can be split into the, “I’ve got something to prove and like to go fast” ones and the “I like the wind in my hair and the freedom of the road” ones.
I much prefer the latter. Freedom of the road guys I can admire and wish that I had a Harley to ride to Sturgis on. The former, jerks, I hate. They compensate for a lack of maturity by darting in and out of traffic. These are the guys you see turned into road pizza because they do wheelies on the tollway. They do their youtube videos at 180mph. They cause accidents to happen.
Here is a hint, Mr. Jerk, pick your battles buddy. If you just cut someone off, don’t get pissed if you think they are following too close. At least not enough that you try to get them to pull over. Then don’t pull up right next to them and start banging on the window. A .380 will still kill you, even through a window. You never know what can happen in a “right to carry” state. Also, that family man you are harassing with his wife and family in the car… yeah, no jury is going to punish him for protecting them when he feels threatened.
So here’s to you, Mr. Jerk… Thanks for making me feel bad about getting both older and wiser. I really wanted to open my window, grab your arm as you undoubtedly took a swing at me, close that window on your wrist and drive off, dragging you off of your ugly rice burner.
Oh and to you normal, Freedom of the road guys (and gals)…
The Boomer’s Torment
It’s Monday, gotta get back to it,
In my office looking at spreadsheets.
I hear way down on the street,
That rumbling engine roar,
My heart skips a beat.
It’d be nice to go.
It’s Tuesday, pressure getting hot,
Talking to the CEO, who listens to me.
Off in the distance, some bro goes by,
He’s free to make that blessed noise.
My heart quickens its pace.
Can’t wait to go.
It’s Wednesday, right in the thick of it,
In a lunch time meeting of forty.
Jonesy blasts out from the garage,
Concussive sound shattering the air.
My heart goes racing.
I’m dieing to go!
It’s Thursday, I’m getting tired of it!
My assistant briefing me on schedules.
A leather-clad takes a look at the city,
The bellow bouncing off the buildings.
My heart slams in my chest.
Man! I gotta go!
It’s Friday, wear my gear to work!
Pouring over quarterly sales reports,
I see four guys go by below,
The thunder heard above the traffic.
My heart roaring in my ears.
Hell with it! Time to go!
Cynthia Philippi
I think Cynthia did a great job describing the 9-5 torment.