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Tuesday, February 26, 2008


Nevermind the Bollocks, the Peds are Vicious!
Current mood: crappy
Category: Life

So I'm riding my bike through downtown Manhattan again. Naturally, half of my stories begin this way, because disaster always looms on the horizon when you're riding a fucking bicycle in New York City. I'm pretty damn sure that there's a latent suicide urge still left from my early days as a manic-depressive teenager, which manifests by my fixed desire to roll through these dangerous streets on a device with as little personal protection (helmet notwithstanding) as possible. Regardless.

It's one of those fucking nights when everyone is driving crazy, so my brother and I (actually, I'm not trying to diffuse responsibility here, I fucking chose to go the wrong way down a one way back street) turn down Rivington Street, on the Lower East Side.

Everything's cool, until we get to Ludlow, when oncoming traffic has me pushed up to the curb, which normally isn't a problem, except there's a woman at this intersection, right next to the curb. It's a close shave, but I'm pretty damn used to those, and besides, I'm cruisin...

Right into her, as it turns out, because she makes a sudden turnabout, and steps right into the street, right in front of me.

They have a saying about what happens when a Jew with a hard-on hits a wall - he hurts his nose.

Well, this Jew crashed into a woman on the street, and let me tell you, the helmet didn't work for shit, because I hit my nose, along with my mouth, into the woman's forehead. Down I go (again)... but this time I hit the ground stumbling, so it's not a total wipe.

It is, however, a collision that left me a little dazed. Stumbling around, I got back to my bike, and checked on the woman: "you okay? Fuck! Totally my fault!"

She's looking at me like something out of the exorcist, and that's when I feel the blood pouring down my face. Damn. Her eyes are somewhat bugged out, and she keeps asking, "you okay? you okay?"

Naturally, I'm dazed n' confused, without the marijuana, just the semi-concussion - her head was like a rock - but I don't feel a thing. "I'm good, I'm good... sorry about that... you sure you're okay?"

At this point, she's touching my face.

Minor point of disclosure: I hate it when people I don't know touch me. It's a personal space thing. I don't care if it was Carmen Electra, I would still not want anyone to touch me without first being familiar with them. I'm picky like that.

However, at this particular instance, I'm dazed, confused, and feeling vaguely guilty because I hit a pedestrian while going the wrong way down the street. I shake off the urge to be rude, and say, "it's okay, I'm okay, just a bloody nose, no worries..." while my brother is handing me a handkerchief.

Split the inside of my lip on the top, and my nose is still swollen and sore.

On the scale:

UPS: 2.5 (trying, but getting nowhere)
FedEx: 4.5 (one good hit in, but no lasting or bothersome injury)
Woman at Ludlow: 8.5 (fucked me up pretty good)

Just so you know, o' private couriers: your competition is fierce, and on foot.

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