On Boxing Day 2005 a neighbor roared down my soi in his pick-up. He nearly hit my daughter. My wife later said he didn’t come close, but I took off after him on my motorcycle to give him a piece of my mind. At the end of the soi I slapped his door, but had to arkwardly brake to avoid entering the busier main street. The bike fell over and as I was picking it up, my neighbor, whose head appeared small behind the tinted windows emerged as a 6-3 football hooligan and he walloped my head several times. Bloodying my head, breaking my nose slightly, and blackening both eyes.
“Yeah, but your still an asshole for driving like one.”
Of course this was hardly an isolated incident.
Everyone’s temper worsens in their vehicle.
Sourette’s syndrome is pandemic.
Up in Chiang Mai back in the 90s a German flipped a motorcyclist the finger.
A year later the Kraut was shot dead by the same motorcyclist.
Last week a Thai driver was angered by three kids on bike. They were driving in between the cars without any concern for life or limb. The driver beeped his horn and one of the bikers slowed down to shoot the driver. He was lucky.
His girlfriend said, “I told him to be cool.”
And that’s what everyone should be
Like where we going in such a hurry?
To get some shitty food.
I’ve learned my lesson, but if anyone sees a blue Isuzu pick-up with 6522 plates, I give you the green light to slash their tires.
Beers will be on me at the Buffalo Bar in August.