Psycho

Last night I fortuitously was riding by Nesbitt Hall at Drexel, saw my friend SP's bike outside and decided to give him a call. He was just about to leave and head to Tattooed Mom, a bar on South St. ($1.50 hard tacos on Tuesdays!), so I decided to join him. As we were riding down Market St., we came upon a white Mustang convertible, not new or anything, just your run of the mill Mustang.

This Mustang stopped rather abruptly in front of us leaving a very skinny pathway between him and the parked truck. So SP decided to shoot the gap. Well, the Mustang driver got unhappy. And by unhappy, I mean insane. As you will see later. Anyway, he rolled down his window and started shouting something about scratching his paint. SP kept going and I hopped on the curb to pass by. We continued across the Market St. bridge.

VVVROOOOOOM!!! SCREEEEEEEEEEECH!!!! Hello! the white Mustang pulled to a halt right in front of us. The guy, let's call him Garvy, goes to get out of his car and starts screaming at us that we scratched his car, he's with the police, we left the scene of the accident, if we didn't stop he'd hit us, blah blah blah. SP wisely suggests we take to the sidewalk for a little while and we continue to the intersection of 23rd and Market.

What do you know, there was Garvy, again screeching to a halt in front of us in the middle of the intersection. We stop. He gets out. The fun begins. He is accusing us of leaving the scene of an accident.

Me: What accident?
Garvy (to SP): You scratched my car.
SP: You were stopped in the middle of the street.
Me: Sir, I don't see a scratch.
Garvy: It's right here (as he points to a little gray line right above the wheel well, that is obvious to me was so low it could not have been made by SP's bike handle unless he was falling off his bike). You know how much it costs to get that fixed? $300! Do you have $300??
SP: I can get some rubout and get rid of that scratch for you.
Me: I really don't think that scratch was made by SP.
Garvy: I was yelling at you to stop. You ran away from the scene of an accident.
Me: Well, in the interest of safety, you almost ran us over. And in the interest of preventing anymore scratches to your car, would you like to move out of the intersection?
Garvy: No. I just want you to know how much it costs to get a paint job! And apologize for it!
SP: You chased after us. Do you know how many crazy people are in this city? Talking to you now, you seem like a normal guy, but I'm not going to stop for crazy people.
Garvy: This city is full of crazy people. I work for the city council and your car gets all scratched up parking in this city (this is where I lose his train of thought, and he becomes slightly nicer).
Me: If you work for the city council, can you get some bike lanes put in on these streets?
Garvy: Not on Market St. across from 30th!
SP: Well I apologize.
Garvy (as he answers his phone and gets back in the car): Okay, I just want you to know how expensive that is. I'm already scheduled to get my whole car repainted tomorrow.
Me (wondering why he cares about the scratch if he is getting a total paint job tomorrow anyway): Have a good night. Pyscho (under my breath of course).
SP and Me: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!