Fly Away, You Fly

I had my mid-year review at work in the past week or so. After the two issues that arose recently, I was sure I was going to get a poor review, but it turns out my boss has this weird problem where she relentlessly focuses on the positive—the review was good.

I told her I thought she was going to say I was a horrible employee, recalcitrant and never missing an opportunity to say, at length, what I don’t like and why, but she said no, no, no, she thinks it’s fine for people to say what they think, and that it is helpful to her to know what the possible issues are.

I learned something about Hammett’s secret life recently. I was in the bathroom and could hear my neighbor in the next building, Sarah, whose bathroom window is six feet or less from mine, talking to a fly: “Hello, fly, why are you in my apartment?” and so forth.

Then she yelled, “Hey, neighbor!” That could only mean me. I assumed a standing position and looked out the window. She asked if I also have fly problems. I said I usually have one or two around, but not a huge number. It turns out Sarah really hates flies. I offered to send Hammett over to chase them; he loves to do that, and catches one pretty frequently.

Sarah said if she weren’t allergic to cats, she’d take me up on that and added that she often sees Hammett looking at her—he stands on our sink and peers into her bathroom. She said it’s slightly unnerving to notice the two little round eyes trained on her. I’ve never seen him do this. It made me wonder what else he does when I’m not around.

Thelonious never seemed to notice anything around her, but it’s obvious that Hammett sees everything, though he has not yet figured out that he is likely to be inadvertently kicked if he parks himself immediately behind me when I’m standing at the kitchen sink. This has happened many times. It’s lucky our place doesn’t have stairs, because he is frequently right underfoot.

Now for a little treatise on why I love red lights.

There is a place on Market where the bike lane goes between two other lanes. It looks kind of goofy when you first see it, but the lane to the right is right-turn only, and the bike lane is actually placed where cyclists really do ride. However, it’s also true that that stretch of bike lane is one big door zone, potentially, on both sides—doors to either the left or the right could open into one’s path.

Would someone in the third lane from the curb actually open a car door into this little skinny bike lane? Yes. I’ve seen it done, causing a near miss for another cyclist.

One day not long ago (before my crash), there was a long line of cars in the right lane waiting to turn right, and no cars in the lane to the left of the bike lane, so instead of riding right next to all of the stopped cars in the cramped bike lane, I just used the left lane; there wasn’t far to go until I’d reach the next block, which has a bike lane conventionally located next to the curb.

But before I got to the intersection, along came a Honda driver behind me, outraged and honking. A block later, he was stopped at the light and I passed his car and peered in to get a look at the driver. He glared at me; I nodded genially.

I love that the sound of honking has ever less effect on me. I used to think it meant, “I’m going to kill you,” but now I know all it means is that the motorist behind is ticked off, or even just letting me know of his presence, though probably more often the former. In fact, it can mostly be taken as a good sign, since, as John Ciccarelli correctly said, honking indicates that the motorist is aware of the cyclist's presence.

Later on, I ended up just behind this same car at a red light where I had to wait for a cycle or two. I love stopping at red lights, and the longer the better, because every second I’m there, I’m imprinting on the brains of the motorists around me the sight of a cyclist using the whole lane. I do not squeeze by in the little space between the stopped cars and the curb, though I easily could, and though 99 percent of cyclists do. I pretend my vehicle is 12 feet wide and wait patiently.

That guy felt very free to honk at me when he perceived that I was “not using the bike lane”—I would characterize it as “avoiding the door zone”—but he could hardly honk at me for being behind him at a red light in the center of the lane, or even in front of him at a red light in the center of the lane, and that is why I love red lights. Every single one is an educational opportunity.