The bump and the gaslighting

In the old days, I owned several motorcycles. I loved the wind in my hair, the rumble of my motorcycle beneath me, and the sweet, unadulterated bliss of riding free.

Or, you know, the soul-crushing crawl of rush hour traffic, which is what I was actually experiencing. It’s not quite the same, but when you’re stuck going 5 miles per hour on a motorcycle, you take what you can get.

This particular day, my patience was being tested by the universe. I was inching along, tapping my fingers on the handlebars to a non-existent beat, when I noticed the distinct black-and-white pattern of a police car in my rearview mirror. Lovely. Nothing like the presence of law enforcement to keep you on your best behavior, right?

Well, you’d think so. The officer behind me seemed to be playing a riveting game of Candy Crush, or maybe he was composing a symphony on his phone. Whatever it was, it certainly wasn’t paying attention to the road. As traffic momentarily lurched forward, I gave my bike a gentle nudge ahead. And that’s when it happened.

Bump.

I felt the nudge before I heard it. The cop had rear-ended my motorcycle. Now, I’ve had my fair share of run-ins with authority figures, but I wasn’t expecting this. I glanced back, expecting an apology, maybe a sheepish look of embarrassment. Instead, I got a scowl that could sour milk.

“Why’d you stop on purpose?” he barked, stepping out of his car.

“Excuse me?” I said, incredulous.

“You heard me. You stopped on purpose. You trying to get hit? I should write you a ton of tickets for this.”

A ton of tickets. Right. For the crime of existing in traffic.

This is the moment where the hero of our story might have launched into a righteous tirade about truth and justice. But heroes are for fairy tales and superhero movies. Me? I’m a jaded comedian. My spirit animal is more Garfield than Batman.

“Uh, sorry about that,” I said, deciding to channel my inner zen master. Or maybe I was just too tired to argue. “Didn’t mean to stop so suddenly.”

The cop’s eyes narrowed, trying to detect any hint of sarcasm. Finding none (or maybe he just wasn’t great at detecting sarcasm), he grumbled something under his breath and returned to his car. Crisis averted, as they say. Or at least, confrontation averted.

I continued my slow crawl through traffic, feeling the gaze of Officer Bumper-to-Bumper burning into the back of my helmet. No tickets were issued, no further accusations made. We all moved on with our lives, the cop probably returned to his phone, and I returned to wondering why I ever thought riding a motorcycle was a good idea.

You might think this encounter left me enraged, plotting a vendetta against the entire police force. But truth be told, I found the whole thing more amusing than infuriating. Here was a guy so deep into his smartphone that he rear-ended me, and his first instinct was to blame me. It’s almost poetic in its absurdity.

So, to the officer who played bumper cars with my motorcycle: I salute you. Not for your driving skills, obviously, but for giving me a story to tell. And maybe next time, just maybe, you’ll keep your eyes on the road. But then again, if you don’t, at least it’ll make for another good story.