One of a kind
December 12, 2015 § 32 Comments
A buddy came by to help me drown my recovery sorrows in cookies and ice cream, and talk eventually turned, as all conversations about Cycling in the South Bay eventually to, to Certain Friend.
“You know,” he said, “Certain Friend was one of a kind.”
“Yes, he was.”
“Certain Friend was the only guy with whom you could be riding, or a couple of times it happened walking down the street, and someone would just appear from nowhere, a stranger, and start screaming at Certain Friend.”
“Those tales are epic.”
“They’d totally go off on him. ‘You are a complete asshole!’ and ‘I know you, you are the biggest jerk!’ And you know what was amazing? Certain Friend never even knew who they were.”
“Yep.”
“He’d offended and insulted so many people that the South Bay was literally teeming with enemies, the vast majority of whom he’d only vaguely known and completely forgotten.”
“Certain Friend was a legend.”
“One of a kind. Certain Friend made people hate his fucking guts just by opening his mouth. And you know what?”
“What?”
“We have fewer and fewer one of a kind characters like Certain Friend. Things have gotten more homogenized. Polite. No one wants to offend. Certain Friend had ‘IDGAF’ on his birth certificate. I miss that dude.”
I kind of agreed. “Yeah, I do, too. But he really was an asshole.”
The next day I went to my first physical therapy session. For three weeks now my recovery regimen has been this:
- Lie in bed.
- Sit in desk chair.
- Sit on couch.
- Sit at dinner table.
- Lie in bed.
Casey, my buddy the PT who runs Independent Physical Therapy just around the corner, helped me onto the bed. He’s a super guy and a great physical therapist. He started to check my range of whimpering. “How does this feel?”
“Ouch!” I snorted.
“But I’m not touching anything yet.”
“I’m a big believer in prophylactic whimpering.”
After doing a thorough once-over to make sure my ROW was sufficient to allow me to pedal, I got on the recumbent bike.
I pedaled slowly, expecting shooting pains in my leg. There were none. I pedaled a little faster. Nothing but the stretching of muscles and tendons and ligaments that had shrunken up like dry rubber bands. Then I felt blood rushing into my legs. It was the most amazing and beautiful feeling I’ve ever had.
After an hour I went home. I’d been invited to a party that evening but had decided not to go unless my leg felt really good, which it did. This would be the fifth time I’d been outdoors in the last three weeks.
I got to the party and immediately began talking with my friends. Everyone was super kind and solicitous and I got to give the organ recital over from scratch each time someone asked how I was doing. No one seemed bored, and I loved wallowing in my own trough of stoic-but-pitiful-but-on-the-mend-but-in-pain-and-yes-thanks-I’ll-have-another-slice-of-pie.
The time flew. And then, just as I’d texted Mrs. WM to come pick me up, a woman walked up to me, scowling and mad.
“I know you,” she snapped. “You’re the blogger.”
I was seated with a cracked pelvis, my crutches were out of reach, I didn’t carry a concealed weapon, and this clearly wasn’t going to be good. “Yes?” I said.
“Well, I’ve read your stuff and you know what?”
“What?”
“You’re an ARROGANT ASSHOLE! That’s right, you’re an asshole. A big, ugly, stupid, blathering, rude, arrogant asshole. And I want you to know that.” Then she crossed her arms defiantly and awaited my reply.
I glanced over at the crutches and wondered how far I could get before she tripped me and pushed me down the stairs.
“Thanks,” I said, “and Merry Christmas to you, too.”
Ms. WM picked me up curbside a few minutes later. “How was the party?”
“I learned something about myself.”
“Really?”
“Yep. I’m one of a kind.”
END
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Cycling in the South Bay 
Nice picture!
Thanks!
Hopefully she is a subscriber.
I got the feeling that perhaps she wasn’t.
She meant it as a compliment.
Which is how I took it.
You said “and Merry Christmas to you, too.” ? Not ” Happy Holidays ? You are Arrogant !
Exactly.
I said Merry Christmas to someone yesterday and they looked at me funny. I hope they thought I was arrogant like you!
Cruelest and nastiest thing you say around the holidays is “Merry Christmas.” It’s a phrase reserved for the worst sort of people.
“People are strange. They are constantly angered by trivial things, but on a major matter like totally wasting their lives, they hardly seem to notice.” – Charles Bukowski (I bet she’s a life waster)
I was flattered that my humble musings incited her to rage.
I can happily report I saw Mr. Wanker standing on his own two feet and doing so ever so gracefully! But to all of you who have to race against him in the future, NOW is the time to take cakes, cookies, pie, ice cream…. fatten him up. He’s WAY too skinny. 🙂
You tried, Deb, YOU TRIED!!
She said blogger and “big, ugly, stupid, blathering, rude, arrogant asshole” in the same sentence. I would have called her out for being redundant.
Not all bloggers are big.
Are you calling me fat?
Only on Thursday.
As I said in my email. Once you get on that bike you will be just fine. You are on your way. 🙂
THANKS!!!
It’s always better to not GAF and appear to care than to GAF and actually care. Or something banal like that.
It’s the something banals that make life worth ending.
“….and I loved wallowing in my own trough of stoic-but-pitiful-but-on-the-mend-but-in-pain-and-yes-thanks-I’ll-have-another-slice-of-pie…”
Work it, Wanky , work it!
All of that is why I prefer to write you seldomly but dish + karma your way (silently).
I just can’t stand that putrid whining….
Me, work it??? Heh, heh.
Nothing better than being one of a kind. Keep at it!
No choice … !
Not to burst yer bubble, but unless she’s reading a different blog, her standards for attaining arrogant asshole status are exceedingly low.
Agreed. It would have meant a lot more to be judged against Trump standards. Made me feel like a minor league asshole.
Not to rain on your bike riding parade, but take it from me, on Maslows hierarchy of mobility, walking freely trumps making circles! You’ll get there!
Thanks!!
When you break Casey’s StarTrac bike, give him my number. Tell him I may be slow, but at least I’m expensive.
It did start to smoke after a few minutes. Is that a bad sign?