- Joined
- May 11, 2010
- Messages
- 20,703
- Location
- Charlotte, NC
- Display Name
Display name:
Snorting his way across the USA
It's the same routine. It happens nearly every Saturday, and Sundays too. The burger ride. Well it may be a burger ride, or it might be a ride-ride with a burger stop near the tail end.
There is a bike rack outside of the burger place. Do you think I'm going to seriously entertain leaving my Uber costly (Uber costly? Get it? See what I did there? Did you hear about the scandal over New Year's eve?) carbon fiber roadie on a bike rack, even if I carried a lock? Hell no. I'm putting it someplace in plain view, and close enough so I can dash outside if someone tries to take it. So it normally ends up leaning on the plate glass window in the outdoor seating area.
Burger girl: "How was the ride?"
Me: "Great. You know, I feel conspicuous in these biking clothes. They seem to draw a lot of attention."
Burger girl: "Well, sort of..."
Me: "What do you mean?"
Burger girl: "Want the honest truth?"
Me: "Sure."
Burger girl: "They're all staring at your dick."
What?! Maybe it's the Winter long pants, you know, the ones without the padding like the shorts have. Or maybe it's because it's Winter and every one else is dressed like an Eskimo. But she was right. I checked myself out in the mirror. That thing really does stick out. So I try to be all nonchalant about it, grab my burger and drink, scarf it down quickly, and get the hell out of there. But go figure, it had to happen. Fast forward to yesterday:
That's right, seated in the booth that sits next to the plate glass window is a family of four. Mom, dad, little Johnnie and little Sally. I have to tell you, there was something very phallic about how Mom was eating her french fry, with her face literally inches from the bulge as I put my helmet and gloves on. You couldn't hear the conversation, but you could almost read their lips. Went something like this....
Johnnie: "Little Eddie got one of those in Miss Penny's class before the break, when she bent over to pick up the eraser off the floor."
Sally: "Yeah, is it supposed to do that?"
Dad: "Hmph. Damn bikers."
Mom: "Well... he may not be a black man, but still...."
Dad: "What?!"
Mom: "Nevermind."
Have I violated some sort of social more? (morey? No that's an eel. moray? Or is that the eel?) I don't really like to stick out, so to speak, in public, but it seems unavoidable in biking clothes. WW6PCD?
It's affecting my biking. Well, not biking, but eating. It's like the one, sole reward for five hours and eighty miles of torture fest is that juicy burger with bacon in it. Not that watching mom unconsciously deep throat the french fry was unrewarding, but now being all self conscious of things just detracts from the experience.
Anyway, that's all, I'm over it now. On to better things.
There is a bike rack outside of the burger place. Do you think I'm going to seriously entertain leaving my Uber costly (Uber costly? Get it? See what I did there? Did you hear about the scandal over New Year's eve?) carbon fiber roadie on a bike rack, even if I carried a lock? Hell no. I'm putting it someplace in plain view, and close enough so I can dash outside if someone tries to take it. So it normally ends up leaning on the plate glass window in the outdoor seating area.
Burger girl: "How was the ride?"
Me: "Great. You know, I feel conspicuous in these biking clothes. They seem to draw a lot of attention."
Burger girl: "Well, sort of..."
Me: "What do you mean?"
Burger girl: "Want the honest truth?"
Me: "Sure."
Burger girl: "They're all staring at your dick."
What?! Maybe it's the Winter long pants, you know, the ones without the padding like the shorts have. Or maybe it's because it's Winter and every one else is dressed like an Eskimo. But she was right. I checked myself out in the mirror. That thing really does stick out. So I try to be all nonchalant about it, grab my burger and drink, scarf it down quickly, and get the hell out of there. But go figure, it had to happen. Fast forward to yesterday:
That's right, seated in the booth that sits next to the plate glass window is a family of four. Mom, dad, little Johnnie and little Sally. I have to tell you, there was something very phallic about how Mom was eating her french fry, with her face literally inches from the bulge as I put my helmet and gloves on. You couldn't hear the conversation, but you could almost read their lips. Went something like this....
Johnnie: "Little Eddie got one of those in Miss Penny's class before the break, when she bent over to pick up the eraser off the floor."
Sally: "Yeah, is it supposed to do that?"
Dad: "Hmph. Damn bikers."
Mom: "Well... he may not be a black man, but still...."
Dad: "What?!"
Mom: "Nevermind."
Have I violated some sort of social more? (morey? No that's an eel. moray? Or is that the eel?) I don't really like to stick out, so to speak, in public, but it seems unavoidable in biking clothes. WW6PCD?
It's affecting my biking. Well, not biking, but eating. It's like the one, sole reward for five hours and eighty miles of torture fest is that juicy burger with bacon in it. Not that watching mom unconsciously deep throat the french fry was unrewarding, but now being all self conscious of things just detracts from the experience.
Anyway, that's all, I'm over it now. On to better things.
