I don’t usually get into it here, because there’s a certain lack of respect from other drivers that you have to accept when you ride a cute scooter. I mean if you don’t accept it you’ll do bad things to your blood pressure, so it’s really not worth it.
But anyone who’s ridden in a car with me knows that I’m not the sort to keep my mouth shut when someone’s driving like an asshole. I mean there are driving conventions (that also happen to be laws) like signalling your turns and lane changes, and not cutting people off, and just generally not being a dick. That last one’s not a law, but if you follow it, chances are you won’t break any laws. And most of these things are really really easy to do.
On a scooter there are different things…people can’t tell the difference between a small and large displacement (well, larger!) engine, so they assume you’re going less than the speed limit even if you’re going the usual prevailing speed, that’s usually around 10 kph over, in the city, so they will zoom past you (usually on the right) regardless of how fast you might be going. So you end up getting passed by some oblivious cock doing 80 or 90 kph on a 50 kph road. Who then cuts you off and realizes how fast he’s going, so slams on the brakes.
There’s this prevailing need also to get in front of the scooter, so no matter how much room there is behind me in a lane, 90% of people will go out of their way to go in front of me.
That’s the usual kind of thing. I generally count any day where someone doesn’t actively try to kill me with their car as a good day.
Today I was parked at the bank, stopped in to use the machine. The bank was open, so there were actual bank customers in their parking spots, and there were the usual people who park in the bank slots to go to the rather revolting well known sandwich shop that is nearby, I guess it was lunchish time, so both parking areas were reasonably busy, although not chock-full.
I park in the last slot, next to the alley T-intersection. I’m just getting my gloves on and getting ready to go when this big pickup parks next to me, out of the slots, in the alley. There are other spots available–I mean plus I’m clearly leaving, so the slot I’m in will be available in short order–I looked at the truck, continue getting ready to go, he gets out of the truck and comes over to stand in front of me, all 5’8″ and a buck-fifty of him. In a very reasonable tone of voice, he asks me if I’m talking to him. I wasn’t, and reply that I wasn’t. I don’t think I actually was saying anything. He asks me if I have a problem, I say no; I say but that’s not actually a parking space you’re in. He says, sure it is! I snort my derision, he gets blustery and belligerent and asks me rather less pleasantly if I’m a traffic cop and what am I going to do about it, and I say no, I’m fucking nobody and get the fuck out of there, because seriously, what kind of guy takes his wife to the Subway for lunch and then picks a fight with some random lady in the parking lot?
I pity you, you sad, sad, little man.