I was biking my slow bike under the tracks on 31st Street last Saturday night. I was rather enjoying the weekend congestion, life, and hustle-bustle of our dear neighborhood, Astoria. A car pulled up on my left and from the rear passenger-side seat, a woman, relatively attractive, started yelling at me.
“Uh oh,” I’m thinking.
“I love bikers,” I hear. “I love bikers!” she screams. She’s about two feet away and leaning out of the car trying to give me a high-five. She adds, “I’m single. You’re gorgeous. I love bikers!” She might have said something about being drunk, too. I’m not certain. It didn’t really matter.
It’s nice to be flattered when you least expect it. Though I gave her a big smile, alas, I wasn’t able to continue this conversation. As I was on a bike, I was soon far far in front of my not-so-secret admirer.
Why didn’t this never happen to me when I was single? I think this is the first time in all my years biking that I’ve ever had a positive experience with a person yelling at me from a car. A guy in a car in Boston did once give a rose to a girlfriend of mine as we were biking around. She was sexy. And I guess it was a nice gesture. Except she was my girlfriend. And I wasn’t giving her flowers. We didn’t go out for long. Hmmm.