The streets of San Francisco are skinny and congested. Attempt to fit a bus, a car, a pedestrian and a cyclist into one lane and the spatial issues are obvious. This is the predicament I found myself in yesterday morning.

For me, tight spots like this present two options:
#1: Pull over and get out of the way.
#2: Anticipate and maneuver slowly.

I went with option #2. Which basically meant I narrowly scraped by the pedestrian. The ped, who got out of the car and put himself in my slender path, was irritated.

“Idiot,” he mumbled quietly as I continued down the road.

Half a block later, I began to really process the situation. This grouchy, self-righteous, Prius-driving, bay area bastard illegally parks his car on the side of the road and expects me to get out of his way? And then insults me? Oh, hell no.

I checked for traffic, flipped a u-ey and scanned the sidewalk for Mr. Unhappy.

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound like I meant business, “I’m not an idiot…you got out of your car and I didn’t have anywhere to go.”

He was surprised to see me. SF isn’t exactly a confrontational type of place and he seemed shocked that I’d come back to defend myself.

“Sorry, it was the first word that came to my mind…” he responded.

“Well, you should get a bigger vocabulary, then,” I said, feeling victorious and satisfied that I’d come up with a sweet zinger.

I rode away with the early morning sunshine rising in the east and a smile on my face. I probably should’ve just let the whole thing go, but I felt the need to prove that nobody, I mean NOBODY, messes with this idiot and gets away with it.

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