Warning, may contain nut parts
I’m in Greenville at the time trial minding my own business. As I’m wandering around someone I know who works for the race sees me and walks over.
“Are you staying out of trouble?” she jokingly asks. At this point I’m suffering from a sever case of swamp-ass due to the extreme humidity of the south, but I humor her.
I smile. “Sure am!” She and I have a bit of history. When Tim and I land in the pressroom she is banging out press releases about whatever race we’re at. She has often told us we’re the funniest ones at “insert town name here.” But at the same time whenever we come in she moves away from us, which I don’t blame her for. We’re annoying.
“You are such a troublemaker! We may take away your press credentials!”
I laugh because that is, at times, that’s what I secretly want. And press credentials really don’t do anything other than secure a quality parking spot near the race. But then it got me to self-reflect, which is something I shouldn’t do under any circumstances. Why am I such a troublemaker? Am I just an a-hole or as someone recently called me, “eccentric?” Isn’t eccentric just a nice way of saying odd? This is when I spotted Floyd Landis. He’d know.
Landis and I have bonded over a mutual self-distain for people taking themselves so seriously. A couple of years ago we got into the conversation of becoming pirates. He said he looked into it and it wasn’t a smart career move. I disagreed. The way the housing bubble is now and with more jobs being moved over-seas, it seemed like an ideal time to take up piracy. Anyways we bickered about it and we agreed to disagree. Then we watched the YouTube video of Kid Rock getting into a fight at Waffle House.
So the moral of the story is that there is no moral. I’m gong to continue to blame my parents for their poor parenting skills and harass staff at races because it makes me smile.