My Blog from MySpace, v. 10 (Federal Edition)

Thursday, February 14, 2008


UPS Outsourcing, or Private Courier Conspiracy?
Current mood: intense
Category: Life

I can't decide if it truly was Brown trying to kill me as a personal vendetta, or professional animosity.

Today, that indecision, that lack of certainty was compounded.

First off: it's fucking freezing in New York City right now. Snowed Tuesday, was a wet goddamn mess on Wednesday, and today finally dried out... but stayed around freezing temperatures. Throw in a wind chill, and it's in the teens this morning.

Nonetheless, I decide that I'm going to ride my bike to work. Probably because I've got a lot of angst to work out. Or maybe because my new, low profile bike o' excellence really is a nice ride (though I need to work on the gearing, since my top end is not fast enough for rush-hour traffic in Manhattan). Or maybe because I'm not getting any action, and I need to vent somehow, and late-night porn sessions just don't satisfy anymore. Regardless of the reason, there I was, riding my bike to work again.

This time, I get some weird stick up the ole' you-know-what, and decide screw it, I'm taking the Brooklyn Bridge, instead of the Manhattan. There's two reasons for this bridge: it's got a better view, and it's a wood-plank covered bridge, which is fun to ride on. The Manhattan is really fucking boring.

Two disadvantages: it's really out of the fucking way, and drops you off in the middle of lower Manhattan, near Wall Street, which is a total fucking mess. Blame Stuyvesant, the peg-legged would-be dictator of Manhattas when it was a Dutch colony. His fucking street design was as good as his missing leg. Fucking Dutch bastard. But I digress.

I'm rolling Jay street, trying to find my way to Sixth Avenue. For those not in the know of NYC, below Houston (How-stun, don't ask me why it's pronounced that way, probably to spite Texas) the avenues all have different names, like Chystie, Bowery, etc. None of which I know jack or shit about. I try. Except this morning, I gave up, and decided to hit the west side, or greenway... a bike path that leads up the entire west side of Manhattan.

So, Jay to the greenway, and I'm just about to the last light, and I see the squeeze. Let me tell you what the squeeze is: traffic next to a parked vehicle. You have to navigate carefully, because you're in a narrow tunnel, and you can feel the vehicles squeezing you in.

Looking over my shoulder and around, Brown is nowhere in sight... I'm safe, right?

Fuck no!

FedEx, the magic fucking arrow is the vehicle to the right on the squeeze, and the van door comes flying open. Caught me in the shoulder, the bike on the right handlebar, and your's truly went flying into the left hand car of the squeeze. I bounced hard, and hit the turf.

Staring up at the clear blue sky. Legs, check. Arms, check. Head, check. Back, check. Breathing, check. Getting up. Fucking FedEx got me... but I live to see another day!

Fucking FedEx got me.

So did Brown outsource the job it couldn't get done by itself, or is there a vast courier conspiracy, to take me out, because I'm a cyclist with a messenger bag on my back?

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