Friday, June 11, 2010

Know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em

San Francisco is a very politically correct place and I was just busted by one of the PC police. This particular PC'er is a member of a PP (politically powerful) organization, the San Francisco Bicycle Coalition and felt quite comfortable putting me in my place.

Before I continue I want you to know that I too am politically correct. I'm not rude about it, but I really do try to consider everybody before I speak or act.

It is a fantastic day here. Maggie and I went out this morning but just ran boring errands. The nurse isnt' coming until 3:00PM and we decided to take a little walk with the dog to a nearby store. We weren't going to the supermarket, mind you, just a little corner store to get some cream for the coffee. It's the type of place you run into for no more than five minutes. Mostly it was an excuse to get out again on this beautiful day and stroll through the neighborhood.

We went out the garage door, put away the compost and recycle bins (ok and the garbage too, but that's not pc) started our walk. I have both a wheelchair and a dog with me - two things that are very PC here. The dog was actually leashed for once, and I was obeying all laws.

When we arrived at the store I lashed Brisco the wonder dog to one of two poles outside the store, exchanging hellos with the guys who work there. (We are regulars) As I finished  tying the dog, a young man with  a bicycle wearing a San Francisco Bicycle Coalition T-shirt,says  "Ma'am those poles are not for dogs, they are for bikes."

Fair enough. But there was another pole three feet away.Neither had a bike on it. I looked at the pole and then at him and said, "and you want to put your bike on THIS one instead of THAT one."

"Yes," he says defiantly.   A woman was sitting at the table outside the store eating a sandwich. She was staring at the guy with her mouth hanging open. .  

My first thought was to say "call a cop", but I did not. He was technically right, but really ridiculous. One of the workers was sweeping and he started to say something but I just shook my head at him. It wasn't worth it. This 25 year old guy was going to show the middle aged lady pushing the wheelchair who was boss.

He looked like an idiot.

I simply untied the leash ignoring his suggestions I use the tree to secure the dog (also un-PC). I did not respond at all, but simply untied the dog, unlocked Maggie's brakes, turned her chair around, backed it up three feet, put the brakes on and tied the dog to the OTHER bike pole. (There was another full sized bike rack at the establishment next door and that too was completely empty.)

He was smoking (very UN-PC) and put his cigarette out on the ground. (AACK!) I was soooo tempted, but said nothing. I just looked at the cigarette on the ground and glanced at him. He was as proud as a peacock. Yeah, congratulations, buddy, you should be proud of yourself.

As we walked by him silently, Maggie said on her talker, "Mom I am happy." That is apropos of nothing, but it cracked me up.

For the record, my son Eddie is a very committed bike rider and I am very very conscious of the rights and safety of bike riders. However, there is a difference between my son and the twerp I encountered today.My son's mother taught him manners. Those are always politically correct.

3 comments:

  1. I wish we lived closer, because your sense of humor is fantastic. That comment that Maggie made and your response to her comment had me laughing out loud.

    And I really hate rude, PC people. But I love polite PC people -- within reason.

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  2. Aw, come on, Sally tell us how you really feel!

    Geez, I wouldn't give him credit for pc - too elevated for his insistence. You are too good! But not entirely pc - Mr. Idi0t/Tw3rp might have a mental illness, ya know?

    You and Maggie do not live boring lives! Love your stories, too!
    Barbara

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  3. Great story- love your attitude and Maggie's too. We're a big biking house and I'm appalled to think we would have anything common with that incredibly rude person.

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