by the ArchPriest of Chaos
Mess Press, Issue #1, 1991
I should have known better than to think of any day in San Franciscoas ordinary. As I launched myself on my bicycle down Golden Gate throughthe thick fog. I finally realized what had been troubling me, the lackof automobiles on the road. Now, don't get me wrong, cars were moving onthe street. It was just that there were too few of them for a Friday morning.I shot down Golden Gate zipping past cars all the way so that I was makingabout 40 mph when I crossed Fillmore. I decided to ignore the matter ofthe missing cars and to enjoy the lack of road competition.
Forty minutes later, I was in sunny downtown San Francisco (having beento the office for deliveries where I spent most of the time waiting fora tag) doing what all messengers on bikes do, annoying the hell out ofthe motorists and irritating the pedestrians. I had just run the lightat Sansome and Sacramento when a cop (you know the type, big guy, gut hangingover his belt, macho mustache and gold tinted mirror aviators glasses,straddling a big Harley cop bike) signalled me to stop. Any how I stoppedthe last thing I wanted to do was run (I mean the Harley's faster and thecops are psychos who love any excuse to do you grievous harm, and nothingpisses them off more than a bike messenger leading them in a chase). Isat on my bike with a foot on the curb waiting while the cop removing hisgloves strut ted up to me with that bowlegged macho walk they used. "Son,"he said pulling out his citation book and pen, "Are you immune tored lights?"
That's the last thing I expected to hear; I fell off my bike from laughingso hard.
"Boy, what in the hell is your problem? Let me see your damn I.D.,"the cop barked.
Untangling myself from the bike I managed to get my wallet out. Handinghim my I.D. I said,
"Here you are officer, Sir.
The cop didn't like my I.D. You know how the DMV is so notorious fornot retaking pictures. Well, when they snapped my picture for the I.D.,I stuck out my tongue. Now anyone who sees my I.D. gets the old impertinenttongue in the eye. Yeah, the cop really loved it. After the I.D. everythingwent smoothly, he wrote the ticket and glared at me as I signed it. Whenthe cop left I got back on my bike and ran the next five stoplights tomake up the lost time on my delivery...
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