Sorry for calling you a jackass, Mr. Chickenshit.

Driver of a dark grey/dirty black small pickup in Mountain View, you were driving in the right lane while I biked in the left, preparing to make a left turn. You asked me “Are you trying to commit suicide” and then drove off. I shouted after you “I’m making a left turn, jackass”.

I apologize, I should not have called you a jackass as you did not act as such. Rather, you acted as chickenshit. Snug in your pickup, ensured of the manlihood it takes to apply few pounds of pressure on a rubber and metal “pedal”, easing at 30 miles per hour towards the stoplight, while I biked at 25 mph in the left lane, using real pedals to supply torque to power a device without assistance.

You thought it might be clever, perhaps even in a helpful way if you asked me if I was mentally unstable, unable to navigate my device by the laws of the road. You thought you would imply that my sense of self preservation was lacking anymore than yours, mister “I’m going to lean out the window and act like chickenshit while I drive too fast towards a stoplight”.

And yet you had a point, you did have some skewed priorities of self preservation, you were too chickenshit to slow down to listen to my reply. You were so sure of your inability to assess the situation correctly that rather than hearing a reply that would prove your inaccuracy, you hid in your right-on-red.

Yes, Chickenshit, I apologize for I should not have called you a Jackass. My mistake.

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