Ok, so I have the bike up on the stands.. front and back. I had to take the front tire off to take it up to Redline and get new rubber mounted/balanced.
There's a guy that I see almost every day. He walks his kid up to the playground... they're up there for about an hour, then they walk back. Not sure which building they live in. I'm usually out doing... something... to the bike. He always speaks, I say hi, and his kid usually says hi too. Nice humans, all around.
Anyway, I come back from Redline and as I pass the dumpster, I look down the parking lot and see my bike. For some reason, when I round the bend like that, I always look for the bike. Not sure why.
Well today, I see the guy, with the kid in his arms, lifting him up onto the seat.
:angry4::angry4::angry4::angry4::angry4:
I gas it, tires screaching over the speedbumps. Of course, the alarm goes off as soon as the kid touches the bike. A normal person would have at least acknowleged the alarm. Not them though... cause they knew me.
I can't really remember what I said when I got out of the truck. It was something along the lines of "Excuse me sir, why is your child on my motorcycle?"... or, it could have been "What the ... get off! Get off the bike! Not yours! Bad! No!" I'm not sure which.
Somehow, I managed to not curse, swear, and make references to one's mother... it was a kid, and it was the father who lifted him up onto the bike.
The alarm is screaming, I don't have the keyfob to shut it off, and I'm trying to yell over it. Finally, it goes off on it's own, after about a minute.
The man explains that he didn't think I'd mind if he sat on it. I ask if this is the first time he's done it. There's a pause, then he says yes. :bs:
Now the bike is pretty stable on the stands. Heck, I'll get on it with my fatass and it won't budge. However, it's my fatass, and not someone I don't know. I explain how much the bike weighs, point out the things that could have hurt his child, then procede to get on my soapbox and tell him that I've seen him alot outside because I've put alot of work into the bike. Having someone casually take all that for granted is infuriating for me.
So up until now, the guy has been pretty quiet. When I get done explaining myself, he asks "Are ya done?", out comes his soapbox, and he procedes to preach to me about sportbi... sorry, "Crotch Rockets" :angry2:, young people, and how they have no respect for people around them. I ask him when he saw me doing any of the things he talked about. "Just cuase I don't see 'em, don't mean they don't happen."
I'm pretty upset at this point. It turns into a yelling match, and he's a much bigger man that me. Granted, I fight pretty dirty, and always go for the eyes and groin, but I'm thinking he'll probably knock me unconscious well before I get the chance. He finally walks away, stomping and murmurring something. His kid turns around and says "Bye." and waves. I couldn't help but laugh. He had no idea what was going on.
So, now I'm watching my bike like a hawk. I might sit in my truck tonight and wait for the sonofab---h, cause I'm pretty sure he's the type to take it to the next level.
There's a guy that I see almost every day. He walks his kid up to the playground... they're up there for about an hour, then they walk back. Not sure which building they live in. I'm usually out doing... something... to the bike. He always speaks, I say hi, and his kid usually says hi too. Nice humans, all around.
Anyway, I come back from Redline and as I pass the dumpster, I look down the parking lot and see my bike. For some reason, when I round the bend like that, I always look for the bike. Not sure why.
Well today, I see the guy, with the kid in his arms, lifting him up onto the seat.
:angry4::angry4::angry4::angry4::angry4:
I gas it, tires screaching over the speedbumps. Of course, the alarm goes off as soon as the kid touches the bike. A normal person would have at least acknowleged the alarm. Not them though... cause they knew me.
I can't really remember what I said when I got out of the truck. It was something along the lines of "Excuse me sir, why is your child on my motorcycle?"... or, it could have been "What the ... get off! Get off the bike! Not yours! Bad! No!" I'm not sure which.
Somehow, I managed to not curse, swear, and make references to one's mother... it was a kid, and it was the father who lifted him up onto the bike.
The alarm is screaming, I don't have the keyfob to shut it off, and I'm trying to yell over it. Finally, it goes off on it's own, after about a minute.
The man explains that he didn't think I'd mind if he sat on it. I ask if this is the first time he's done it. There's a pause, then he says yes. :bs:
Now the bike is pretty stable on the stands. Heck, I'll get on it with my fatass and it won't budge. However, it's my fatass, and not someone I don't know. I explain how much the bike weighs, point out the things that could have hurt his child, then procede to get on my soapbox and tell him that I've seen him alot outside because I've put alot of work into the bike. Having someone casually take all that for granted is infuriating for me.
So up until now, the guy has been pretty quiet. When I get done explaining myself, he asks "Are ya done?", out comes his soapbox, and he procedes to preach to me about sportbi... sorry, "Crotch Rockets" :angry2:, young people, and how they have no respect for people around them. I ask him when he saw me doing any of the things he talked about. "Just cuase I don't see 'em, don't mean they don't happen."
I'm pretty upset at this point. It turns into a yelling match, and he's a much bigger man that me. Granted, I fight pretty dirty, and always go for the eyes and groin, but I'm thinking he'll probably knock me unconscious well before I get the chance. He finally walks away, stomping and murmurring something. His kid turns around and says "Bye." and waves. I couldn't help but laugh. He had no idea what was going on.
So, now I'm watching my bike like a hawk. I might sit in my truck tonight and wait for the sonofab---h, cause I'm pretty sure he's the type to take it to the next level.