It seems as though there is one every where. You know, the smart ass. The stranger that has to comment on what you are eating, tell you that your child should be walking when they are comfortable in a stroller, criticize what your kids are wearing or on the book that you are reading.
Last year we bought this gorgeous Yamaha motorcycle, and whenever the weather is nice, we take it out for a ride. Where ever we go on this machine, we get noticed. Whether it's the fact that it's longer than a smart car, or that it's gorgeous sparkly red, I don't know. What I do know is that I'm not one of those biker chicks that perches on the back of a bike on an impossibly tiny seat, clinging to Hubs like some wayward monkey baby. No, I ride in style. I have a huge, plush seat with a backrest, stereo speakers, actual foot rests, and I plug in for intercom, baby.
The other night we stopped for gas. There's a routine to this; I get off, use the debit card, and then hand hubs the gas nozzle while he gives me the gas cap. He then fills the tank. As we are doing this, another biker behind us begins yelling in my direction.
Have you ever tried to listen to someone when you have a helmet on? It's like the teacher in the old Charlie Brown cartoons. Mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah.......
The biker begins walking towards me and I notice that he's all decked out in neon yellow, with some badge thing pinned to the front of his jacket. Who the hell wears neon yellow? Okay I know it makes it easier for people to see you but really? Yellow? What is he, a police officer? No, and what's he saying?
"You should never sit on a bike when you fill it." Uh, ya, talk to the dude who drives the damn thing, I'm just the girl on the back.
I tilt my head and look at him, puzzled. "Are you talking to ME?"
Darn right he is. He continues talking as he walks over.
Oh good LORD, what does this moron want?
"You should never do that, that was the very first thing they taught in Advanced Riding 101."
Bristle. Eyes narrow. Cue look of, "What the HELL did you just say?"
He sees the look and registers that I'm about to tell him where to stick the gas nozzle and moves on to Hubs.
Oh...just wait. He'll tell him off. John will ask how long this loser has been riding. He'll...why the hell is he explaining himself?! He's being nice? I know the bike leans real far and if you aren't sitting on it you can't fill the tank properly, but this guy probably makes everyone get out of his car when he fills that too! Who goes up to a complete stranger and tells them what to do? Who quotes that they learned it in a course like you are some idiot who needs to be schooled?
The guy finally says his piece and drives away as I turn to Hubs in horror.
"You were nice to the guy? NICE? I thought you'd tell him where to go! Who just walks up and starts saying crap like "I learned that in Advanced Motorcycle 101"? Who DOES THAT?"
"Na, it's okay." Hubs smiles slyly and motions for me to get back on the bike. Soon we're roaring down the highway.
"No, it's not! Who does he think he is? Who made him the safety police? What kind of person.."
I'm ranting into my microphone before Hubs finally stops me.
"He's cocky. One day, he'll do that to a Harley rider, but it will be.."
An image of the Harley riders we've seen pops into my head. Big, leather clad, tough looking guys that rarely speak to us Yamaha folk. No way I'd mess with a Harley guy. I start to giggle, and I can almost hear Hub's smile in his voice.