I just got back into my apartment after locking myself out at 12:30 in the goddamn morning. Holy mother fuck. And tomorrow would have to be a day where I start early instead of 3 in the shitforsaken afternoon.
Why did I get locked out? Because I was returning my wife’s bike to the bike locker, and the key for the buttfucking bike locker looks identical to the key for my front door.
Why was I returning her bike? Because Tuesday, I came out of my friend’s apartment to find my bike lying on its side and chained to a post. You may remember my bike, since I’ve already had to pit the asshole vandal delivery people in Manhattan.
Now when I left my bike it was standing upright chained to a post, but now, in its ever so short journey to the ground the fucking saddle had performed a topological miracle and managed to disassemble itself so badly that the only way I could put it back together was to fucking drill two holes in the back of the saddle so I could reattach it to the seat post.
Of course, my handlebars had been knocked out of whack, but while straightening those out I found it was worse than I thought. The front forks must be made of tinfoil, because they are bent out of shape. One fork is further forward than the other, and they are actually twisted where they meet the hub of the front wheel.
I’ve had this bike since fucking September. NO bike has given me this many problems, not even my '79 Suzuki with a faulty electrical system.
Normally I could go take solace in my wife, or with my baby daughter, but noooo, today is the day they’re out of the motherfucking country, so I get to vent my spleen in a string of electrons.
FUCK! SHIT! CALISSE!
