Today I had to take the bus to the Jersey Shore. Now, you're probably looking at my last name and wondering whether I did myself up like Snooki. As if I could, or would want to...
Anyway, on the way out of , and back into, New York, I passed through the Port Authority Bus Terminal. I committed, shall we say, a few of my youthful indiscretions there. So did more than a few other people. In recent years, the place has been cleaned up and made much safer, along with neighboring Times Square. (Once, when I was drunk, I stopped a would-be mugger by laughing in his face.) But the ticket counters are just as understaffed, and the staff in other parts of the terminal are just as rude and surly, as they were.
But I digress. On my way out, I noticed a monument to a character and TV show that, as far as I can tell, are acquired tastes that I never acquired.
Ralph Kramden was always threatening to send his wife Alice "to the moon." I can only imagine how he'd talk to cyclists.
To be fair, when cycling, I don't have many encounters with long-distance bus drivers, as we tend not to be on the same roads. However, some of my more harrowing experiences in city cycling have been with bus drivers. They're not as reckless as some cab drivers, but they are angrier. I guess having to maneuver a bus into the same tight spaces afforded taxis would make anyone surly, if not psychotic.
How would Ralph Kramden have reacted to a lycra-clad messenger on a hipster fixie?