3 Lessons in 24 Hours

1. Take your damn time

2. Chill the hell out

3. Don’t ever say “fuck you”, even under your breath.

Tuesday I was to meet up with Moms at the Apple store where she’d taken her computer for repair.  An important call came in at work right as I’d planned to leave, so instead of leaving at 12:30, I didn’t get out until 12:48.  I snapped on my bike gear and took off post-haste down Market.  I was hungry, hurried, and wired from a morning of officing, and as I passed intersection after intersection without seeing the big silver box that is the Mac store, I started to wonder if I’d passed it.  This made me angry, “how the hell could I have passed it?” – I’d been looking dutifully to the right as I crossed each street.  I picked up the pace even more, determined to get there faster, the realization that I had passed the store slowly sinking in.  My denial finally reached an end when I reached Van Ness.  Somehow this totally set me off.  I felt like screaming, I cursed a bit, and turned my bike around abruptly and began rocking down the bumpy street in the other direction, now checking each intersection on my left.  It was an absolutely beautiful day, but I was determined not to let this raise my spirits.  I was still in denial, and sarcastically said “oh it probably just disappeared completely”.  Finally I reached it – just about 2 blocks from my building, sitting on the corner very solidly – apparently it had been sitting there the whole time.  I parked and collected myself and went indoors to find Mom serenely sitting on a stool, writing in a little notebook, waiting for the blue-shirted mac doctors to return with a verdict on her laptop.

Could’ve enjoyed the ride, would’ve gone straight there if I hadn’t been in such a hurry.  Take your damn time.

Biking to work yesterday, I approached the third street intersection, the lights shining green in the distance.  I wasn’t sure if I’d make it, but as I got closer the light stayed green so I accelerated to try to catch it and it turned yellow just as I approached.  Instead of slowing to a halt I pedalled even harder and blazed through the yellow light.  Now, although this is common practice in a car, on a bike it’s a bit different – even if you get into the intersection before the light turns red, it takes about twice as long to get through it, and as pedestrians prepare to cross on the other side, you’re screaming at them full speed but making almost no noise.  A young woman, eager to get to the north side of Market street, took a great big stride out into the intersection just as the little white man flashed on.  She didn’t see me coming, and I swerved, BAREly missing her.  

Would have been awful.  Saved me about one minute’s time.  Chill the hell out.

Yesterday morning my Mom and I sat at the breakfast table and tapped away at our computers, when my Mom looked up and said “I wonder if I have to move my car”.  Wednesday is always street cleaning somewhere in this neighborhood, and after a moment’s debate, she got up – knowing it wasn’t worth the $55 ticket to sit and wonder which side of the street those little buggers will be patrolling today.  As she made to leave she said “and what about Lucy’s car!”, which was parked right out front, and at 7:56, we realized was just minutes away from yet another ticket.  So we scrambled together, me slipping on shoes and grabbing keys and feeling a bit upset that my morning was interrupted by this task, and out the door and down the stairs we went.  Lucy’s Honda was very much alone on this side of the street, and we hopped in, me driving Moms up to where Maxi was parked.  I let her off at 21st and diamond, and prepared to turn around through 21st street, but found my way blocked by a van coming down 21st and looking to turn left on Diamond.  So I pulled over awkwardly as suddenly numerous cars came streaming up and down Diamond – everybody madly scrambling to get out of the way of the traffic cops.  Finally, the traffic cleared and the van turned, and looking over my left shoulder for oncoming traffic, I looped up and around right behind him.  Some gentleman decided to cross 21st street just then, and I didn’t see him at all – my sharp turn cut right in front of his path, and as he walked on I sheepishly realized I was very lucky not to have hit the guy.  He didn’t say anything, but as I prepared to make my left onto Diamond and drive back downhill, I saw he’d stopped in the middle of the street and was staring at me.  This bothered me – ‘what the hell are you looking at, buddy?’ I thought to myself, and as the traffic finally cleared I stared right back at him, saying softly ‘oh you’ve decided I need a talking to, have you?’.  As I made my turn our eyes met and he flipped me a really aggressive bird and mouthed “Fuck you”.  I stared right back at him, said “fuck you!” under my breath, and drove off.  I was pissed, just really freaking pissed at this asshole as I drove down the hill.  God what the hell kind of a way to start off my morning.  I looped down past the apartment and back up Diamond looking for a spot, and I immediately regretted the way I’d handled the situation.  Obviously, I’d given the guy quite a scare, and his strangely aggressive response had elicited the same from me – I appeared some punk kid with no consideration for pedestrians.  I ought to have winced at him, raised my hand in apology, and mouthed “sorry”.  Better yet, I could have dropped the window as I drove by, and given him a chance to speak his mind.  I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t have tried to kill me or anything – and maybe had I told him how sorry I was, he would’ve gotten his beef off of his chest, I would’ve gotten my appropriate punishment, and we both would’ve moved onwards in much happier states of mind.

But the worst two words to say to somebody are “fuck you”.