Damn you roadie, you just had to be socially well-adjusted and hit me up at a time when I was enjoying the sun and the heat and willing to entertain the idea of a spandex hero I didn't instantly dislike.
On my way home yesterday I found myself in-front of a roadie as we calmly made our way through the craziness of the path on a hot June afternoon. It actually wasn't as insane as I was expecting (all the punk crowds had migrated to the Taste set up I guess) so I was happily taking it easy when the roadie asked if he could hitch a ride for a while.
"Sure," I said, wondering why exactly this guy was so tired. "Intervals," he said, stating that he had nearly puked on the last one and was gingerly making his way home. I managed to stop myself from asking why in the world he was doing a sprint workout during rush-hour and just said he could stick around but I was in no rush to navigate the crowds. Cool.
If the interaction had ended there I would have continued on my way unchanged. However, the guy noticed the ND on my bag and started talking about college football and before I knew it, the guy seemed alright despite the fact he almost sprinted to the point of barfing during the busiest part of the day. We chatted until he turned and I kept going, and now I'm cursing myself spending the morning thinking not everyone in a race kit is a jerk, even when there's so much evidence to the contrary on a daily basis.
Live and learn I guess.
Current beer-scale: 4.2
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