nerdi.es

I have to interact with people.

To wit:

Our HERO is biking to work, since he lives like six blocks away and gas is well north of $3 in New Mexico. After a minutes-long coast (it’s mostly downhill), he arrives at work and begins to lock up his bike. FRIGHTENING BLOND WOMAN, who was lurking behind the building, comes around the corner talking loudly on her cell phone.

FBW: I don’t know, I don’t have the money.

Our HERO is doing his best not to listen, as it doesn’t sound like a fun conversation to be dropping eaves on. Due to the volume the conversation is conducted at, however, he has no choice.

FBW: I don’t have the money to file papers! If I have to go see a lawyer, I’m gonna go bankrupt.

At this point, our HERO realizes he’s overhearing a discussion about divorce. Though the woman is glib, it’s difficult to tell if she’s joking or not. Her face is strained, even when smiling, giving it an almost movie-like quality –  as if, at any moment, you’d expect her to pitch forward with an arrow sticking out of the back of her head.

FBW: Well if you’re just going to die, I won’t have to worry about it. I’ll just be a widow, no problem.

Our HERO finally manages to work the lock, clicks it into place, and fairly runs into the building.

See, you can give me the environmental, physical and financial benefits of the bike versus the car all you want, but at least when I’m in my car I don’t have to deal with the crazy-pantsosity* of others. It’s not like I’m deficient in that category myself.

* The clinical term.