I was feeling great.
I had just had my first 1-on-1 coffee with my new Israeli AA sponsor. (He’s a doll, and wise.) Earlier I had picked up my curtains, which had been custom altered for me and took them to a button-hole maker, who further customized them for me. And then I hit up Dizengoff Center, where I bought a tower fan and some cheap essentials from the dollar store I had been wanting to cross off my list. I was a little late for work, but that was OK, as I had worked like a mofo the night before until 1:00 a.m. and was on top of things. Even though I’m not loving my un-worked out body at the moment, it was hot enough that I had broken out the guns and was rocking a tank top. It was hot, but it was sunny, and I was feeling great in Israel, accomplishing things and in a groove.
And then it happened. Slowly I realized that the person sharing the bike rack with me had locked his bike not just to the rack, BUT TO MY BIKE ALSO. Big, heavy chain. Around my bike. I’m feeling so good, I don’t react immediately. My luck can’t be this bad, I must have been thinking. It’s a big chain; I’ll just slide it over my right handlebar and then the left and then….oh. The wheel. Fuck, I’m fucked. I’m super fuckety-fucked. I’m not going anywhwere.
I’ll just wait, I guess. After all, we are just outside a gate entrance for a shopping mall. Maybe he’ll be right out?
5 minutes. 10 minutes. 15 minutes. 20 minutes.
Another person might have cut his losses, hopped in a cab and come back later. Not me; I wanted my bike!
My back was starting to hurt. My feet were, too. I made a space among the bikes and sat down. Should I study some Hebrew? Nah, I’ll just wait.
After about 40 minutes of waiting, I lock my bike back up (to his also, that motherfucker! If he comes out, he’ll get a taste of his own medicine – my thinking was pretty twisted; I was certain he did this intentionally and was being an Epic Asshole) and go in search of a hardware store. I have an errand to run, and maybe I’ll pay someone to cut the fucker’s lock off. No luck, no hardware store.
I come back and just sit. Oh no, I realize. What if the’s not shopping? What if this guy parked his bike before a shift of work? What if he frigging parked it before going to the train station and going to bloody Haifa for the weekend ????
My laptop isn’t with me, so I haven’t checked in w/ my boss, who is in San Francisco, one day before a huge Retreat with our board before we officially launch the organization next week w/ a huge press release. I need to check in. Plus, I’m a contractor, and I’m missing a day’s pay right now. Thix sux.
Maybe he’ll be gorgous, and this will be wind up a great story of how we met? Maybe, I’ll get cruised by some other hot guy walking by as I wait. Nope, and nope. Is this God punishing me for running some errands and being a little late for work? Nah, my Higher Power don’t roll that way.
I see a bike shop across the street, down the block! I lock my bike back up in case he comes out (not to his, this time) and go over to the shop. Explain my situation to the guy, but he won’t cut the guy’s lock off. I won’t cut another guy’s bike lock off, he says. Keep waiting is his advice. I get a diet coke and go back.
Finally, a cute guy walks buy. Wait, I know him. That’s….Yoav! A guy I had a date with few months ago. I ran to the next block and caught up with him. Didn’t remember his name, but it was alright. He was happy to see me. I told him I was having some back luck and needed some help. We walked back to my bike. I showed him the situation.
You’ve been waiting for two hours, Scott? WHAT are you still doing here? Take a taxi home! Well, what if he comes out five minutes after I leave? And I don’t want to just leave my bike here; I want to be riding it! And I don’t want to have to pay for a taxi. And I want to vent to the A-Hole.
This was an accident, Scott. He’s a biker, too. He’d never do this on purpose to another biker. You can write him a note. A NICE note, Scott – asking him to be more careful the next time he locks his bike. If you’re an A-Hole back to him, you don’t know what condition your bike could be in when you come back for it. In English, though? What if he doesn’t read English? Everybody in Israel speaks and reads English, Scott.
Anyway, Yoav tells me some of your thinking patterns aren’t straight (how mature and articulate is he, anyway??) and puts me in a cab. I get home and am excited to at least get my curtains up!
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