Type A-hole

Here's the scene:

I'm riding home on Howard Tuesday night, stopped at the light at Ninth. An elderly lady, walking with one of those canes with a cage at the bottom ending in four rubber feet, starts on the crosswalk late, and she ain't quick. It's clear to everybody there that she isn't going to make it before the light changes. Sure enough, she's still a good ten feet from the the curb when it does. So the car in the right lane waits for her, and I wait too.

She barely makes it past me when some biker behind me just can't stand waiting any longer. He swerves around me as I'm standing there, and swerves back within inches of the old lady. Keep in mind the light's been green for less than ten seconds at this point.

I keep on riding. Since he's a slow and sloppy pedaler, I catch up with him pretty quickly. He's on a new-looking Novara, wearing a grey two-piece suit and tie, and dress shoes. Using hair gel in lieu of a helmet. He's also weaving a bit, but the bike lane's a mile wide on Howard, so I pass him.

As I go by, against my better judgement, I snark at him, "Do you deck grannies every day, or just on Tuesdays?"

He can't hear me. He's got his iPhone earbuds in.

And still angry at the world that they repoed his Lexus.