Thursday, November 29, 2007

Three calls... you're out

The few good souls who read my ranting from time may have noticed that the number of kicking-and-screaming kind of posts has gone down as the blog grows older. You might think that traffic has become less hostile and motorists have found enlightenment and respect for the carbon based commuters out there.
Unfortunately life is no Hollywood production, no happily living after, it's more a Dogme kind of plot; life is senseless shit and then you die. The thing is that I grow used to obnoxious traffic, I'll just jell an insult or spit on your car (it's the perfect time of the year for that; temperatures are dropping and humidity is rising, captain phlegm is back, the color of revenge is green.). I won't even try to write a post about it.

Unless I am really, REALLY, pissed of like this morning.
A day that starts like any other day ; I drop of LL and V at school, take my trusty bike and head of for work. At some point I have to turn left onto the main street but the street I'm on is no priority street so I wait, on the main street a women has stopped to turn left into my street (blinking indicator and everything) waiting for a car that comes down the main street but from the opposite direction. Pretty normal situation, you might say, except for this ASSHOLE in his BMW, who clearly does not feel like waiting for the oncoming car and who takes over the waiting car to turn also left into my street. Mister asshat is driving so fast and takes his turn so sharp that he literally misses my front tire by 10 cm. Yours truly gives him some verbal insult and a finger but the murderous coward is in such a hurry (he probably has to go and run over some schoolkids or whatever it is he does for a living) that he doesn't even feel to pull over to exchange some more verbal pleasantries.
First close call of the day and I only rode 700 meters, way to go.

Ten kilometers later and I am almost history, roadkill, mangled aluminum and broken bones, a statistic.

Leaving a roundabout I get almost mowed down by this blind bitch in her silver 4x4, and by 'almost' I mean that I can see the bull bar (Brussels is a very dangerous place, loads of wild buffaloes and rhinos running around) of her gas-guzzler missing my right leg and rear wheal by 5 or 10 cm, I could count the little bars of the radiator grill. I manage too keep my balance and the adrenaline races through my veins, my feet push the pedals and my bike jumps forward away from the 3 tons of murderous steel. Second very close call of the day.

7 seconds later and I bring my bike to a screeching halt (my tires are now officially no longer suited for off road riding) and turn around to (y)(t)ell the rabid soccer mom what I think of her driving skills and I even suggest her a new job and some actions to obtain sexual relief. I know 4x4 are the Nec Plus Ultra of selfishness and soundproofing but I'm pretty sure she understood every single syllable of my little speech.


I loose it, my pulse goes up and only one thought races through my brain;


I don't usually carry a hammer with me but I always keep my bicycle lock in my bag strapped to my back; that will do the trick just perfectly. I reach for the shoulder strap of my bag but fortunately, as I start loosening with the strap of my bag to get my lock out to transform her windshield into a designer puzzle, common sense gets the best of me; I pull the bag back in place, pick up my bike and drive of, shaking with rage. And when look behind me I see the 4x4 keeping at least 30 meters distance not even daring to take over.

Seriously, this time I almost went over the edge. I call myself lucky that I got away without a scratch and that I managed to cool down on time because this would have ended very nasty.