Something for the Weakened


Thursday, September 12th, 2013 by Alastair

So I was cycling home the other day. Friday night, after closing time, so shortly after midnight. Little bit tipsy, but nothing out of the ordinary there. Got to that bit of the road where the cycle lane turns into the bus lane – you know the bit, yeah? At that point I noticed the car. The sound at first was nearer than normal. Then it crept into the corner of my eye. Noticed that it was getting a bit close.

Then came the impact.

It wasn’t hard. It was directly on the side of my head and helmet. Peculiar white matter flew in front of my eyes. I maintained my balance and continued pedalling. The car began to accelerate and I was confronted by the sight of a man, half out of the passenger side rear window, jeering and gesticulating at me. What he said was sadly drowned out by whatever was playing in my headphones, so will forever be lost to posterity.  The car continued to accelerate away from me, but not with the squeal of tires that accompany a getaway, just steadily up to the speed limit and eventually around a corner about a hundred metres ahead of me. I maintained my balance and continued pedalling.

At that point, I seriously considered, turning left and following them. At that point I was pretty convinced that I had been splattered on the side of the head with a particularly mayonnaisey kebab. At that point I was giggling manically. The sheer audacity of the situation, the stupidity of the action, the fact that their attack hadn’t even caused me to miss a rotation of the pedals. What they had done was funny. Yes, I was the butt of the joke, but what of it. It was late, no one was around to see me smothered in matter except those who’d planned the jape. Yes, I was a bit miffed that I was going to have wipe myself down when I got home, but that was far out weighed by my amusement at the silly prank that had been played on me.

I didn’t turn left. What would I have done? There were at least three people in the car, to my one puny stick figure. In the unlikely event that they had stopped in that side street and that I had remembered the make of car, registration number or face of the thrower, what could I have said to them? Attempt to remonstrate with them through my own giggles? Congratulate them on the execution of the joke and risk a further pelting? I wasn’t especially bothered with what I had spilt on me at that point, it mainly being on my hair, helmet and jacket, all of which were pretty much wipe clean. Further splatter from extra peltings could have led to actually having to wash stuff and I didn’t want that level of stain care. Plus, they might have beaten the shit out of me. I passed the turning, maintained my balance and kept pedalling. And giggling.

When I got home and examined the damage, my giggles nearly became guffaws. The white matter I had witnessed, and even sniffed a couple of times on my ride back, was not mayonnaise at all. I hadn’t been hit by a kebab at all. It was actually all shaving foam. A proper foam custard pie, like what people used to chuck around on Tizwas. This only made the situation funnier. The fact that this was a clearly premeditated pie-by was, and is, so stunningly wonderful that I am happy to have been victim to it. Doubt I’ll be that enamoured should it happen again, but for now, those pie guys have my respect.

If you’ve been affected by any of the events described in this post, please do write in. I could do with a giggle.

One Response to “Driveby”

  1. Bingham Bingham says:

    Weakened! You magical bastard! You have returned!

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