Miss Ducsalot
New member
A little story, for your amusement:
To truly appreciate this story, you first need to understand that I am possibly the most conflict-averse, mild-mannered person you'll ever meet.
I rode my lil Duc yesterday evening to attend the SF Ballet with my mom. After hours I always park in the motorcycle parking conveniently located right next to the Opera House on Franklin St. This time, however, as I pulled up, there was a dark grey, with tinted windows, Porsche parked just as nice as you please in the designated motorcycle parking, in slots 1 through 4.
It was like the straw that broke the camel's back.
So, I parked in slot 5, right in front of the Porsche. Mind you, these are tricky spots to get into because there is so much traffic on Franklin, speeding to make the light, and you have to pull out into the lane in order to back in. I manage it without getting mushed, and as I back in, the Porsche headlights go on!
Ahh, the asshole who thinks his car is a motorcycle is in the car! OK. He's got plenty of room behind him to back up and leave, and I'm already late meeting my mom. He'll get the point, and we can both be on our way.
But, no. Apparently he's just a little bit too special, or maybe he doesn't know where reverse is on his car, because he rolls down his windows and starts yelling at me. I've still got my earplugs in, so I can't really hear what he's saying, but I motion for him to back up to get out as I get off my bike.
Again, there's oodles of room behind this guy. However, he decides to make a point as to how he can't pull out without backing up, and pulls forward, stopping just before his precious Porsche bumper touched my bike.
WTF! So, now I'm standing there, sort of between the car and my bike (any closer and he'd hit both of us), pulling off my gloves, taking off my helmet, pulling out the earplugs, waiting for him to finish describing my terrible personality and leave.
I check behind his car, yes, plenty of room to maneuver. I reassure him that there is plenty of room, but he insists, in between insults, that I move my <insert expletive of your choice here> bike so he can leave. I'm already late to meet Mom, so now I'm trying to figure out a way to get him to go that doesn't involve me getting back on motorcycle. (Geometry is apparently not this guy's strong suit, since he could leave much faster and easier by backing up a bit than by making me pull out into the traffic lane, where I'd still be blocking his exit.) I don't want to leave until he goes, because this guy clearly needs anger management classes in the worst way and I worry he'll go ahead and knock over my bike.
At last I realize I have the ultimate weapon in my pocket. A phone. With a camera.
I pull it out and start taking pictures. First, a nice close-up of his license plate. (He flashed his brights while I was taking the pic, to try to mess up the exposure, I guess.) Then a shot from the side, and another, ... and it works like a charm. He discovers the reverse gear, and, still screaming his analysis of my personality (not so good, I'm sorry to report), easily backs up and pulls out into traffic with room to spare.
What did I learn? Sometimes it's a good thing to stand your ground, especially when you have a camera phone.
To truly appreciate this story, you first need to understand that I am possibly the most conflict-averse, mild-mannered person you'll ever meet.
I rode my lil Duc yesterday evening to attend the SF Ballet with my mom. After hours I always park in the motorcycle parking conveniently located right next to the Opera House on Franklin St. This time, however, as I pulled up, there was a dark grey, with tinted windows, Porsche parked just as nice as you please in the designated motorcycle parking, in slots 1 through 4.
It was like the straw that broke the camel's back.
So, I parked in slot 5, right in front of the Porsche. Mind you, these are tricky spots to get into because there is so much traffic on Franklin, speeding to make the light, and you have to pull out into the lane in order to back in. I manage it without getting mushed, and as I back in, the Porsche headlights go on!Ahh, the asshole who thinks his car is a motorcycle is in the car! OK. He's got plenty of room behind him to back up and leave, and I'm already late meeting my mom. He'll get the point, and we can both be on our way.
But, no. Apparently he's just a little bit too special, or maybe he doesn't know where reverse is on his car, because he rolls down his windows and starts yelling at me. I've still got my earplugs in, so I can't really hear what he's saying, but I motion for him to back up to get out as I get off my bike.
Again, there's oodles of room behind this guy. However, he decides to make a point as to how he can't pull out without backing up, and pulls forward, stopping just before his precious Porsche bumper touched my bike.
WTF! So, now I'm standing there, sort of between the car and my bike (any closer and he'd hit both of us), pulling off my gloves, taking off my helmet, pulling out the earplugs, waiting for him to finish describing my terrible personality and leave.
I check behind his car, yes, plenty of room to maneuver. I reassure him that there is plenty of room, but he insists, in between insults, that I move my <insert expletive of your choice here> bike so he can leave. I'm already late to meet Mom, so now I'm trying to figure out a way to get him to go that doesn't involve me getting back on motorcycle. (Geometry is apparently not this guy's strong suit, since he could leave much faster and easier by backing up a bit than by making me pull out into the traffic lane, where I'd still be blocking his exit.) I don't want to leave until he goes, because this guy clearly needs anger management classes in the worst way and I worry he'll go ahead and knock over my bike.
At last I realize I have the ultimate weapon in my pocket. A phone. With a camera.
I pull it out and start taking pictures. First, a nice close-up of his license plate. (He flashed his brights while I was taking the pic, to try to mess up the exposure, I guess.) Then a shot from the side, and another, ... and it works like a charm. He discovers the reverse gear, and, still screaming his analysis of my personality (not so good, I'm sorry to report), easily backs up and pulls out into traffic with room to spare. What did I learn? Sometimes it's a good thing to stand your ground, especially when you have a camera phone.
