So… we were all ready to get a new bed today and took our old bed out, and stayed at home, and waited and waited and waited… and nothing. Then Jon got word that the ass wipe who was supposed to deliver the bed had been sitting in his truck in front of our house for half an hour– allegedly claiming that we weren’t home but we were home all day, our old bed resting on the weedy and overgrown lawn, in true hoarder like fashion (OK, some poetic license here, but we did take the bed out of our room). So, if we want to sleep tonight we could drag the grass-stained bed inside or just sleep on the floor in the spirit of “Camping at home can be fun, too!”
Really… our new carpet should be soft enough.
To get away from it all, I decided to go for a ride. Haven’t ridden in ages due to the rains but the sun and true warmth have returned, so I put on my bike shorts and cleats. As I hit the road, I was subjected to a lame teenage prank, while climbing Wild Cat Canyon Road toward Inspiration Point.
I wrote a crime report about it on Nextdoor and reported it to the Orinda Police as well. Since I know exactly what you can and cannot say in those reports on Nextdoor, I kept it pretty civilized, calm and neutral, just warning other cyclists.
Of course, I really wanted to write the following:
To the privileged, preppy, and testosterone-impaired teenage asshat who passed me in a dirty grey Volvo sedan on Wild Cat Canyon road this afternoon: if you think that screaming in someone’s ear with decibels so loud that I’ve probably damaged my hearing for life is “fun”, you’ll be pleased to know that I took down your license plate. Had you just screamed, I would have let it slide and have written it off as your frustration over your appallingly sad SAT scores or the fact that you still don’t have a girlfriend due to that ugly mug, your lack of manners and chronic Neanderthal ways.
But since you pulled out some spray gun and shot a sticky substance at me, accompanied by a retarded battle cry that you couldn’t even enunciate properly, I’ve reported your sorry ass, and your partner in crime who hit the gas, and I hope that this somehow goes on your record. Attacking a solitary female on a bike and driving off while laughing like a hysterical castratee says a lot about your character, integrity and values. I’m happy to tell you that your aim was poor and hope you’ll shoot blanks for the rest of your life, because the world will be a better place without your offspring.
Ah, the kid will never get caught, but boy does this feel good. I feel better already.
Bed or no bed…