“Hit ’em! Hit ’em!”
So I’m straddling a baby blue Divvy bike on Washington Street at lunchtime Thursday, on my way to Grant Park to check out the World Cup party crowd, when, pausing behind cars at a light, I hear heckling. Directed at me.
Some jerk is urging a cab that’s trying to change lanes just to drive into me. A familiar-voiced jerk.
I turn my head to see who it is and am confronted with the gleeful mug of Rahm Emanuel, peering through the lowered smoked-glass window of his big black Chevy Tahoe. Rule No. 1 in these situations: Always return fire.
“At least I’ve got my helmet on!” I say, giving my noggin a demonstrative slap. Last time we went bike riding together, Rahm didn’t wear a helmet, which I thought set a bad example for the kiddies, not that they are looking to him for haberdashery cues. That got me nowhere.
I had just tossed off a blog post wondering, wondering, given how upset San Francisco was about losing George Lucas’ museum, whether it might actually be a good thing, so thought I’d take a conciliatory tack while jabbing back.
“Congrats on snagging the Lucas museum, Mr. Mayor,” I said, perhaps trying to be pleasant, perhaps truckling. But by then the light had changed. I stood on my pedals and took off out of there, leaving the mayor’s convoy far behind.