Adding Insult


To injury.

Gah.

I got up early this morning to deal with the scooter and was actually nicely assuaged by the fellow at San Francisco Scooter Centre when I chatted with him about my scooter getting knocked over and not starting, the busted brake, et al.

He told me to use the other brake, shouldn’t be a problem, ride it on down to the shop and they’d have it fixed up in a jiffy.

Well.

Fuck, that’s nice.

Awesome.

I took a Lyft to the scooter, which I had left parked over night on the street that I work on and pretty much knew that it was worse for when I had left it the minute I was exiting the car.

God damn it.

The back basket had been broken into.

Yes.

I left my fucking Corazzo $250 motorcycle jacket in the basket.

Fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck.

I had spaced it.

I know better, but I was just overwhelmed last night and had marched right on over to the Mission Police Station to file my report.

Also.

Motherfuckers.

The head lamp was stolen.

I mean, clean gone.

I didn’t even know that was something of value to steal.

Enjoy that tasty crack, yo.

Fuck me.

I called Scooter Centre, I told them what had happened and that the scooter would not start at all, I suspect that the wiring had gotten mucked with when the headlamp was ripped out.

The guys were quite kind and helped me with all the things.

I have a two year road side warranty so they sent over a tow truck, free of charge, and I handed off my scooter to Dave, really a sweet old guy, who loaded it up, took my keys, and dropped it off within twenty minutes of having arrived.

He sent me a text that it was delivered to the shop two minutes before I started work.

I made a second trip to the cop shop, as it turns out the theft of parts and the theft of my jacket were separate incidences to the scooter getting rammed into yesterday.

Police report number two did not get fully filed, I didn’t have enough time to do the paperwork and process it there, so I get to do that online tonight.

Or maybe tomorrow in the morning.

I called Scooter Centre this evening around 5:30 p.m. and they said my scooter would be ready by noon tomorrow.

Hopefully so.

I would like to put this all behind and move the fuck on.

I just spent some time on line looking at scooter jackets to replace mine and they are more expensive than I recalled, but I have to say, my jacket was so nice, it was wind proof and sturdy–reinforced elbows and back padding– and I really felt a lot better wearing it than not wearing it.

When I go to pick up the scooter I’m going to see if they have any jackets in my size at the shop.

They carry the brand and though I doubt they have a pink one on hand, I will see if they have something there.

I would rather walk out the shop wearing one than wait for one to come in the post.

Although if they’re too expensive I’ll just get one online.

I found one on sale for $199.

Here’s the jacket I had.

It was pink.

I felt all sorts of Pink Lady tough when I was wearing it.

Also noticeable on my scooter, it’s reflective as well.

I ran into a friend tonight and she asked after my scooter and when I told her that my jacket had been stolen too, she said, “oh no!  Not your pink jacket!”

Yeah.

Unfortunately so.

I thought about it though and realized that I am pretty lucky, even though I was none to happy, especially as I walked over to the Mission Police Station for the second time in twelve hours, I was going to the cop shop voluntarily.

I was not arrested for anything.

I had not hurt anyone.

Further.

I wasn’t hurt.

Yes.

My fucking pocket book is taking a beating, but so it goes.

The same police officer that I made the initial report to was there and we chatted, she was super kind and helpful and though I left still upset, I was soothed fairly quickly.

Things just don’t always go the exact way I want them to.

But.

They do happen for a reason and I’m willing to have surrendered to taking cars for the last two nights to get home.

I get to do that.

It’s a nice perk of urban living.

Granted.

The two young tech start up Millennials that were chatting about Body Rok and their tech start up dating app were obnoxious to listen too, (I wanted to smack both of them in their young, white, wealthy privilege, they weren’t racist, but man they were super ageist and the lilting over high voice of the young woman was so grating to listen to I wanted to shake her and ask her to speak with her real voice) I was still grateful to be in a car, heading home out by the beach, with the window rolled down, the feeling of the wind refreshing and brisk and summery.

For San Francisco.

Over heard in the park today.

“It’s just too fucking hot, I can’t do anything.”

haha.

It was 80 degrees.

That is not too hot, although it feels like a heat wave when just a few weeks ago it was foggy and about thirty degrees cooler.

The summer does seem to be here.

Which is nice since I have a date Sunday to go for a hike in Glen Canyon.

Heh.

That was unexpected.

And wouldn’t have come to fruition if I hadn’t been on my phone yesterday in the car on the way home from the scooter snafu.

So.

Even though it was not my plan, my idea, or my desire to have a night off from the scooter, it did precipitate some actions that led to me getting asked out on a date.

More about that later.

Or not.

I’m not too certain I want to share any details right now.

Suffice to say.

I’m excited and said date falls within the parameters of the type of men I want to be dating.

My scooter will be running by that point.

Heck.

It will be running tomorrow.

I’ll be skipping yoga to go get it, but hey, luxury problems, like I said.

My life is rich and full and surprising.

And.

Wonderful.

Even when I have things that were lost.

They’re just things.

The best things in life.

I remind myself often.

Aren’t.

Things.

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