Last week, a middle aged man on a scooter was stopped at an intersection. He had no signal on and was positioned to go straight. I wanted to turn right, so I eased next to him to do so. I was a good four feet away from him, but he erupted in profanity and gave me the finger. Now I wasn't turning right. I followed him as he went straight.
Realizing I was following him, he pulled over, hopped off his scooter, removed his helmet, and gestured for me to come get the ass-kicking I so richly deserved. I pulled over and got out of the car. He used every swear word he knew, which topped out at about four.
"Just out of curiosity, what exactly do you think I did wrong?"
"YOU FUCKING PASSED ME ON THE RIGHT!"
"Uh, no I didn't. I was stopped and turning right."
"YOU PASSED, DUMBASS!"
"Passing on the right rather requires, um, a pass. Hence the word."
He challenged me to a fight, right then and there. I considered it, thinking aloud. "I don't really see the upside. If I fight you, it'll end up one of two ways. Either I kick your ass, or you kick my ass. Agreed?"
"You're not gonna kick my ass, you stupid fucking faggot."
"So either I'm the guy who kicked a retard's ass, or I'm the guy who got his ass kicked by a retard. Either way, I lose." I shrugged and got in my car.
"ARE YOU A MAN, OR ARE YOU A FUCKING COWARD? YOU'RE A COWARD!" he yelled repeatedly. I considered this. I hadn't been so challenged since the seventh grade. Since then, I've stood up to much more formidable threats than him, although none so clearly in need of medication. I've had guns pointed at me several times, knives twice, and thanks to my mouth, I've been punched in the face countless times. Yet when faced with a deranged middle-aged man, I was backing down. Had I indeed softened? I wasn't feeling afraid. What was I feeling? Was this maturity?
No, it wasn't. Since we pulled over, I could see he was poised to throw his helmet at my new car, the dealer temp tags plainly visible. Protecting the first new car I've ever owned was all I'd thought about since the confrontation began.
Carwardice. This is new.
As he was strapping on the helmet, I lowered my window and offered a bit of advice. "By the way. Middle aged men who wear leopard print blouses and drive scooters really shouldn't be questioning people's manhood."
His helmet bounced off my rear window as I drove away.