Monday, September 9, 2013

Another Lunatic


There’s a lot of really weird people in my neighborhood.  Every time I go outside I have to be ready to deal with some strange shit like when I found my neighbor throwing dog shit into my apartment complex.  Most days pass without incident, but there’s always a chance that somebody is going to toss a ton of crazy at me.  It could either be a person that is strung out (like the guy that shattered a glass bottle on the ground, blamed it on the man that had just passed him, and then screamed ‘Fuck you up!’ in my face as I passed him), a little distraught (like the woman that once followed us while muttering about how being outside is terrifying, confided in us that she was raped, and then yelled ‘Thanks for letting me vent!” as we crossed the street), or simply out of their mind.

Last week, I think I met a woman that is simply out of her mind.


I was biking home from work and it felt like the sun was about ten feet above me.  I was crossing over Fountain while waiting for a red light and I heard someone speaking beyond the muffle of the music in my ear buds.  I couldn’t understand what was being said so I took them out and looked behind me.  There was a woman in an old van waiting for the light to change.  She wore an American flag bandana and held her arm out of the window.


“Fucking douche bag,” she said while staring directly at me.

“Did you just call me a douche bag?”

“Fucking bike-riding douche bag.”

I’m not unaccustomed to being abused by someone in a car while riding my bike.  But rarely are they this aggressive without any reason.  I know that I piss people off sometimes, but I try not to.  And this time, I was completely without fault.

I looked back at her in disbelief, holding up the what-the-fuck hands.  The light turned green and she drove off. “Fuck you!” she screamed while flipping me off.

I decided I couldn’t let this fly and started down the road.  I knew that the road she was on would dead end and she’d have to take a left so I raced around the block to catch her.  However, as I tried turning the corner a fucking truck came out of nowhere and crossed the road, almost running me over.  I slammed on the brakes and swerved as he passed by me to park as soon as he crossed the road.  I pulled up next to him.

“What the fuck?”

But I didn’t have time to wait for a response.  I cleared the block and found her sitting at a stop sign, about three cars back.

“So, what’s your problem,” I asked while she was watching the cars in front of her.  She turned to me.

“I know who you are, you piece of shit.”

“What?”

“I know who you are and you’re a fucking asshole.  And tell Jack Black that he can go fuck himself.”  She pulled a little closer to the stop sign.

“Jack Black?  I don’t know Jack Black.”

“Yes you do.  I know who you are.”

“Okay, who am I?”

She looked at me for a moment, not wanting to tell me who I was.  She pulled forward a little more.

“John.”

“John who?”

“John go-fuck-yourself, that’s who you are.”  She reached the front of the line.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about you crazy bitch.”

She started pulling into the intersection.  “I’m with the LAPD.  I know who you are.  You  tell Jack Black to go fuck himself you fucking asshole!”

“Keep talking!  Keep talking you crazy bitch!” I yelled as I rode south down the road while she drove north.  I looked back to make sure she wasn’t going to make a u-turn and try to run me over.  I saw her stopped with cars backing up behind her as she hung her head out of the window and screamed at me.  I simply said “Oh my god,” about ten times and found my way home.

Like I said, this isn’t an every day occurrence, but things like this happen a lot more than they probably should.  Los Angeles is a strange mix of lunatics and geniuses.  And for some reason, I only find myself around the ones screaming nonsense into the air.

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