Monday, July 12, 2010


On my ride home tonight: I am going across the Hot Metal Bridge when I happen upon two people, a black male and a while female, probably in their early 20's. Not much of a big deal, but the guy starts to move over to the left as I call out, "on your left....uh nevermind, in between you."

I go between them and about a few seconds later I feel something tugging on my hand and bike... I look down and see a red thread being pulled by my front handlebars. I try to get it off but realize I have to stop and find myself at the other end of the bridge at that point. I think perhaps it is my shirt since it's red and I start to worry that my shirt is unraveling in front of everyone.

"If you would like to destroy my sweater...get it caught on my bike I as ride away..."

I start gathering up the thread and realize that there is way too much thread and it isn't the same shade of red as my shirt. I look up and see that those two I passed between are stealing glances at me from where they are nonchalantly looking out at the city skyline. Then I remember they might have been laughing at me before...or something.

"The bastards...they tried to clothesline me.....uh, with a piece of thread??"

Shortly after I took the above picture, I considered going to take a picture of them and then asking them if they wanted their thread back, but decided against it. I'm just glad they didn't use fishing line that could have caused more harm than a little bit of "thread burn". Actually they didn't have gloves on, so if anything they probably would have harmed themselves more than me.

Douche bags. Oh well.

Update: the next evening I found a bunch of that same thread all over the bridge. What punks.

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