Scoot Commute

St. Joseph’s Day Commute, aka Zeppole Day

Posted in Daily Commute, Honda Elite 250 CH250 (1986) by sbahn on 2014/03/19

March 19th is a big day in Rhode Island. People go crazy eating zeppole to celebrate St. Joseph’s Day. Somehow I missed this day growing up in the Pine Barrens of south Jersey. I thought maybe it was just my sheltered upbringing (really, there’s not a whole lot of diversity in the sand pits), but I conferred today with a co-worker, also from New Jersey, but she from up north (you know, 201 land), who confirmed “it’s a Rhode Island thing.”

My ride in this morning was brilliant! Why, you ask. Could it be I made every light, and every stop sign was but a brief halt? Sadly, no. So what was it?

Corner of River and Chalkstone Avenues, there’s a barbershop. I rolled up to the red light, first in line, no one behind me. I noticed a guy walking along the sidewalk in the opposite direction. I leaned down to watch in my right side mirror but didn’t see him. This is the kind of corner where you don’t want to lose site of pedestrians, if you know what I mean. I glanced to the right and noticed that he had turned around and was now heading back in the same direction as I was headed.

He gave a head bop and yelled something over. Now normally I don’t engage with random dudes walking down the street, but I knew this was a long red light and why the hell not? I pulled up my faceshield and said, “Wha?” He made vroom vroom noises. I yelled over, “Grab a helmet” as I patted the seat behind me, “and hop on!” Apparently he loved this.

He then walked up the steps of the barbershop, presumably to get his buddies, but the light turned green and off I went. We’ll see if he’s standing there tomorrow morning, helmet in hand.

Oh, to the morAn in the Subaru who screamed out the driver’s side window as I was waiting to make a left onto Huxley (from Eaton), fuck you. Wasn’t sure if you heard me this morning.

On the way home, a totally different take on the scooter as commuter.

My favorite insult, of the myriad of insults that are hurled at scooter riders, comes from the person waiting for the bus.

I had just gotten gas, and as I’m scootering down Broad Street, a chick at the bus stop, presumably waiting for a bus, at  Central High School yells out “Can I take a ride in your basket?” which must have referred to the rocking milk crate on the back.

Really? You are waiting for THE BUS. I can come and go as I please, getting 70 miles to the gallon and insurance of what, $50 a year? Which comes out to be cheaper than your bus pass, except for the fact that you don’t actually pay for your bus pass, which is, naturally, subsidized by me. So because of you, yes, I have to ride this lame-ass scooter because my earned income is siphoned off so your ass can ride on a bus.

I am so over this neighborhood. Social justice my ass.


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