Imagine that it's a hot summer day; the kind of day that's so hot that the sky is no longer blue but a dirty white, where the outlines of the skyscrapers grow indistinct near their upper limits due to the haze.
We're talking 42 degrees with the humidex, or 114 F. Fugly, horrible, bitchy weather. And let's not forget the smog advisory.
Now imagine that you've had to leave the calm and cool sanctuary of your air-conditioned and de-humidified apartment to run an errand, one that could have been avoided if another party (who shall remain nameless) had engaged brain at some point the day before.
You have two choices:
So off you go, and reach your destination after a ride hotter than you imagined and fraught with incidents involving obscenities and rude gestures (it's MY lane, fucker!). Still clad in boots, leather chaps and armoured jacket, with helmet in hand, you enter the establishment from which you need to collect a package. You are hot, sticky, a bit slimy and more than a little grumpy.
The chill of the place hits you like a leap into a too-cold lake, and the sweater-clad and ever-so-perky young thing at the counter looks up and seeing you in your gear, chirps cheerily "Oh, you ride a bike? Aren't you hot in all that?".
What is your reply?
****
A purely unrelated sidenote to Jules: I am learning how to temper my fuck-off forties with some impulse control and restraint. However, the way is not an easy path.
We're talking 42 degrees with the humidex, or 114 F. Fugly, horrible, bitchy weather. And let's not forget the smog advisory.
Now imagine that you've had to leave the calm and cool sanctuary of your air-conditioned and de-humidified apartment to run an errand, one that could have been avoided if another party (who shall remain nameless) had engaged brain at some point the day before.
You have two choices:
- To take the public transit. The buses are air-conditioned, but it's non-rush hour so you will have to wait outside in the sun for an undetermined amount of time. The trip via public transit will take 1.75 hours approximately.
- To take your motorcycle. This method will reduce the total amount of time away from the cool oasis of home to 35 minutes. The downside is donning the necessary gear for a ride downtown, and no, riding in T-Shirt and jeans is not an option. Cagers in the city are idiots and you like your skin precisely where it is.
So off you go, and reach your destination after a ride hotter than you imagined and fraught with incidents involving obscenities and rude gestures (it's MY lane, fucker!). Still clad in boots, leather chaps and armoured jacket, with helmet in hand, you enter the establishment from which you need to collect a package. You are hot, sticky, a bit slimy and more than a little grumpy.
The chill of the place hits you like a leap into a too-cold lake, and the sweater-clad and ever-so-perky young thing at the counter looks up and seeing you in your gear, chirps cheerily "Oh, you ride a bike? Aren't you hot in all that?".
What is your reply?
****
A purely unrelated sidenote to Jules: I am learning how to temper my fuck-off forties with some impulse control and restraint. However, the way is not an easy path.
Cagers in the city are idiots and you like your skin precisely where it is.
Amen, Sister. Amen!
What is your reply?
Knee-jerk reaction:
"It's better than being dead" or "It's better than being a 400 foot bloodstain on the road".
With time to consider:
"No, actually. This suit is air-conditioned, has a GPS unit, and even gets satellite radio. I spray myself down with some water so I look like I'm hot."
"Yes, but at least I can change. You'll be stupid forever."
restraint? you? Now I'm frightened. This can only end badly.
"Cmere and gimme some sugar baby!"
What! All my fantasies involve lesbian action in biker leathers.. jeeeze.. you asked..
"It's always hot in this babe"