Ann left me a voicemail message today that she told me was blog-worthy. So here it goes.
Seems she was stopped at an intersection waiting for traffic to clear when she noticed a duo of joggers approaching from the right. According to Ann, she left the pasta-eaters plenty of room to pass.
But it wasn’t good enough for one of the fitness nuts.
“Helllooo! Joggers here,” one of the ladies exclaimed as they hopped by.
Ann wasn’t impressed.
“Why don’t you watch where the fuck you’re going, you asshole? You don’t own the goddamn road!”
One of them looked back at Ann and kept jogging. With the mood Ann was in today, I would have made like the Activision Decathlon and shifted from a steady pace to a serious sprint if I were either one of them.
And that leads to this. Why do these morons act like they do own the road? Most of the ones I pass always seem to be in the middle of the street. And forgive me if I’m wrong, but unless there’s a marathon happening, streets are usually meant for vehicles. Last time I checked, joggers didn’t have wheels or 170 horsepower—unlike my car.
You bunch of eccentric pedestrians. Don’t stare at me or give me the crazy eyes because I happened to pass you on the street—I’ve got every right to be there, idiot. And would it hurt you to stop jogging for 30 freaking seconds? You look like chihuahuas on crack when you stand there at an intersection, checking your watch, jogging in place waiting for the light to change. Go forbid you lose a precious 1/1000 of a second.
Oh, and Jim Fixx to all of you. I’ll pound down a pack of chocolate Hostess Donette Gems tonight in your honor.