by Erik Torkells
Yesterday I won a small battle by getting my partner, Adam, to agree to BLTs for dinner.
Generally he likes to cook more ambitiously, but the tomatoes at the farmers' market looked worthy, so I bought them, and that was that.
We already had some bacon in the freezer (my semi-vegetarianism brakes for BLTs) and I had picked up bread and lettuce.But after he got home from work, I realized I hadn't checked to see if we had enough mayo.It's an important-enough ingredient that the sandwich really should be called a BLMT.Our pug, Howard, was acting like he might need a walk, which solved the problem of who should go to the store -- both of us, so one could stay with the dog while the other went inside.
We were crossing Church Street, which is more of an avenue, at least in terms of width, and just as we were almost across, a cyclist -- I hadn't even seen him coming -- flew by, making a point that we were in his space by threading the needle between us and the sidewalk (instead of going behind us, even though there were no cars anywhere nearby).
Annoyed, I reflexively called him a wiener (more or less), not in a raised-fist, yelling-at-his-back kind of way, just saying it, maybe a bit louder than normal.And then I forgot about it, except I was a bit disappointed in myself because I've been trying not to swear.
What is it about cycling that turns certain people crazy?Do they feel put upon by cars (and pedestrians)?Does all the adrenaline get to them? Do they feel invulnerable because they can always speed off? It could be all of the above, I suppose.Then again, some people are just plain nuts.
The cyclist, who was in his mid-20's, came back down Church Street and onto Murray Street, and proceeded to harass us, asking why he was a wiener if we were the ones who were crossing against the light (that he ran a yellow light didn't appear to bother him).Adam said that he had put us at risk by riding so close, and he replied that we had put his safety at risk by being in the intersection in the first place.
He wouldn't go away.He kept wanting some sort of acknowledgment that he wasn't a wiener -- even though he was making a persuasive case otherwise.After a couple of minutes that seemed like forever, he got off his bike and grabbed my shoulder.Adam didn't like that, and neither did I, although Howard, who usually turns vicious whenever anyone even asks for directions, stayed quiet the entire time, and the moment began to escalate.
In one of those weird moments of clarity that don't come often enough, I realized that the cyclist had left himself no exit.He couldn't just walk away, or he'd lose.So I told them to stop yelling at each other, looked the guy in the eye, and told him I was sorry I had called him a wiener.I was sincerely sorry, not because I didn't mean it, or because I had hurt his feelings, but because an otherwise pleasant walk had curdled, and more important, now I'd never be able to call any stranger a name without Adam pointing out that it could lead to an incident like this.
"Thank you," said the cyclist, and rode off.
~ ~ ~
If there's one thing my pug Howard hates above all else -- except the pair of big, white, fluffy dogs who live on the block (and the feeling is mutual) -- it's skateboarders.
He has pulled the leash right out of my hand before, chasing after them and trying to nip at their legs.So you can understand how, while walking up Church Street today, I was dismayed to see a pack of skateboarders up ahead, careering along the sidewalk. A line of people stood waiting for a bus, unhappy about the situation.
I watched as a skateboarder placed his board on the ground, preparing to come my direction, and I thought "screw you, buddy -- this is a sidewalk."
Howard and I marched forward. The guy started skating in wide curves, right up next to the bus people -- clearly scaring them -- and then zoomed toward Howard and me.
Sure enough, Howard went ballistic, barking and screeching and straining at the leash. "This is unacceptable!" I said, all but clutching my pearls as the skateboarder buzzed by.
I continued on, when another of the skateboarder's crew came out of a crouch. "That was perfect!" he said. "Thanks!" Thanks?
And that's when I saw that he had a video camera in his hand.I was the uptight comic relief.
~ ~ ~
One of the most frustrating things about working on my local web site www.tribecacitizen.com is that some local businesspeople just don't get it.
One recent morning, as I was walking back from the Museum of Jewish Heritage (where a rare Egon Schiele painting was on display for a few weeks), I noticed a boxing gym that I thought was new.I stopped to take a photo of the sign, to send to a woman who writes about fitness for the site, in case she thought the place was worth covering, when a guy appeared in the open
window and told me not to shoot.
"I'm actually allowed to," I said, "I'm on the sidewalk."In hindsight, and I even realized it at the time, this was the wrong thing to say, but I get so tired of explaining that I have a blog about what's up in the neighborhood.
"I know," he replied, his voice raised."I'm asking you not to be a wiener about it."(Again, different word.)I took my camera down, exasperated, and as I was turning to walk away, I said, "Just so you know, I have a website about the neighborhood, and I was thinking of writing about --" He cut me off, flat-out yelling, "Why don't you go log onto go%#$&yourself.com!"
It's a straight porn site.I checked.
