poser with a hose

So, a couple weeks ago I took my bike out for a long ride in prospect park, and I realized that my front tire needed air.

I've only refilled my bike tires a few times in my life--the bike is only a few years old, and prior to this year, I wasn't riding it much...anytime I needed air I would take it to the store on Atlantic Avenue where I bought it, and bat my eyelashes in the hopes that the salespeople would take pity on a damsel in distress such as myself. Unfortunately, I'm not really all that irrisistable, and my appearance would never fail to annoy the poor guy who inevitably would have to fill my tires with air.

Thinking of the look on his face the last time I showed up on their doorstep, I chose to give the poor dude a break and attempt to fill my tire on my own. The last time I had done this, I had gone with Lesty to a gas station nearby that had an air machine for 25 cents. As I headed down to the gas station, I remembered the other Cheese had told me about a bike store on Vanderbilt Ave that had free air. Not that 25 cents is so steep, I mean, I know I'm a cheap cunt, but in actuallity I thought it was a good idea to check out the local bike store, maybe get familiar with the people that work there {for any of you who don't know me, I must tell you that I am SO not the type of person that wants to be recognized or known as a "regular"...I hate when store people know who I am and I hate drawing attention to myself...so what made me think I wanted to "get to know" the bike store people I have no idea. }

I pedalled down to Vanderbilt with the confidence of a seasoned cyclist, although I was nervous to do my air myself. I figured, if I just acted like I knew what I was doing, everything would just fall into place. When I arrived at the store, I noticed that the air pump was right out front, hassle-free. Awesome. I was on the way to juicy, plump, air-filled tires. Woohoo.

There were a bunch of people milling around, waiting to rent bikes, and a couple crackheads off to the side {I live in an "up and coming" neighborhood.} I sidled up to the pump, threw down my kickstand, and grabbed the hose that was dangling from the side of the store.

I heard a horrific pop and before I knew what was happeining, the spigot thingie had popped off into my hand, and the hose was bobbing and weaving like a drunk prize fighter. A big, black, hissing snake of a hose, it took on a mind of its own and I was left holding a broken spigot, feeling ashamed.

To make matters worse, one of the crackheads came over and tried to help me out...as he tried to re-attach the spigot to the hose, which seemed to prove impossible. The fucking thing just wanted to be free. One of the salesguys came out and asked what was going on, and all the crackhead could say was "I DIDNT DO IT". While glaring at me.

Thanks for helping a snowflake out, man.

The salesguy took the spigot from me and tried to fix the hose. All the while, the crackhead chanting, "wasn't me. wasn't me". I wanted to flee...but I felt responsible, like I needed to stick around and make sure that the hose got fixed, and then go back to trying to use it (although, thinking back, the hose was faulty, and had that fucker flown off and swiped me in the eye or whatnot I'd be blind and sueing them right about now.} It became clear that it wasn't going to get fixed...how long was I supposed to stand there like a moron?

Fully aware that the crackhead was going to call me out, I slunk away as inconspicuously as I could, and didn't look back. I sped thru the streets as if someone was going to be chasing me, most likely the crackhead, shaming me into going back to the bike store with my head hung down like a bad little girl. Thankfully, that didn't happen, and I got my 25 cent air, happily.

I have yet to go by that bike store, but I AM waiting for the crackhead to see me and recall, "IT WASNT ME"

Good times.