This past Friday, I was sitting outside traffic court waiting for the judge to get through arraignments before crushing a soul for the second time.
I happened to be joined by two other motors, each from neighboring jurisdictions.
We were happily doing our motor thing. You know, they were telling me how awesome my hair is and we took turns looking at ourselves in the window reflection…the usual.
Anyway, from inside the courtroom, a man emerged. He was dressed in an AlpineStar motorcycle jacket and was carrying a helmet. Though we aren’t detectives, the three of us surmised he was a fellow motorcycle enthusiast, if not simply a rider.
One of my fellow motors lofted a hearty, “Keep the rubber side down, buddy!” It is an expression we often use with other riders. It’s basically another way to say, “Ride safe” or “Enjoy you ride” or something akin to that type of sentiment.
It was meant (and said) good-naturedly.
It was not taken that way.
The guy continued to walk away from us, but turned his head and glared. He said, “Mind your own business.”
As you can imagine, we were a bit taken aback by his rude response to the politeness with which the original comment was uttered.
Amongst the replies of “Wow, angry much?” and “What’s your problem?”, the gentlemen went on about his day.
It took us a few minutes to shake off the “Well, that guy was an asshole” feeling.
You know what got us over the hump, though?
When one of us noticed a motorcycle in the parking lot. It was the only one we could see from our vantage point.
And it was parked in a handicap spot.
Phones came out, calls were made and texts were sent in an effort to located someone with a parking cite. Alas, to no avail.
And then the clouds parted and the local jurisdiction walked through the door to much pomp and circumstance. At least that’s the way it played out in my head. I did think it odd that clouds parted, the sun shone down and angels sang…what with us being inside and all.
We quickly told our little tale. The local beat cop and his partner (who have since been made honorary motor officers for their support and dedication to the cause) gave a knowing smile and went back from whence they came.
The three of us motors stood in the window (yes, I was briefly dazzled by my reflection) to watch the inevitability unfold.
It seems the Irritable Biker was arraigned and chose to plead guilty and was in line paying his fine whilst our cohorts were standing by his bike scratching out a $275 handicap violation ticket. Our dreams came true when from out of our view came Irritable Biker.
It was like watching a choreographed ballet.
You could tell he was not pleased. You could make the assumption that Irritable Biker devolved into Apoplectic Biker. He broke out his cell phone. One of the cops broke out his cell phone…they were taking pictures/recording one another. And of course, I was recording the entire thing from the 2nd floor of the court house.
It. Was. Epic.
The moral of the story?
No matter how irritable you may be, motors can be more irritable more quickly and more ingeniously than you. You might be irritable. Hell, you might be irritable for a legitimate reason, but unleashing that irritability upon those that have it within their legitimate and legal authority to revisit their own upon you to the tune of $275?
That’s just not a smart idea.