How to Improve the Braking Distance of Your Scooter by Dragging Your Face along the Pavement at the Intersection of Sunset and Cahuenga

This week I was fortunate enough to discover a novel means of improving the braking distance of my SSR Aria scooter by dragging my face and left leg along the pavement at the intersection of Sunset and Cahuenga in Hollywood, California.

Without this ingenious method, I may have inadvertently scratched the bumper of the silver Mercedes C-class in front of me, which would have proved an unmitigated disaster by unnecessarily detaining the driver who by dint of his stylishly highlighted bangs and Armani sunglasses was surely on his way somewhere far more important than myself. And so by using a combination of my scooter’s side panels and my own epidermis, I was able at halve my SSR’s braking distance and impress a multitude of passersby who could only gape in amazement, except for one woman who took it upon herself to tell me, as I picked myself up from the ground and proceeded out of the way of oncoming traffic, that I was “very lucky.”

Because it never hurts to tell someone in the immediate aftermath of their near-death experience that they were very lucky, even before they’ve had an opportunity to staunch the bleeding from their presently disjointed and rapidly swelling knee, which in combination with my face also helped to decrease the distance needed to bring my scooter to a successful and complete stop.

However, before hobbling to the corner and the comparative safety of a nearby lamppost, I chanced to look upward from where I lay on the ground in time to see a black Cadillac Escalade barreling toward me, and I had just enough time to think to myself, “My ex-wife is going to get a fucking kick out of this obituary.”

Because I can tell you that there is nothing dignified about a 34 year-old man being crushed with his matte blue 150 CC scooter beneath a luxury SUV on Sunset boulevard at one in the afternoon on a weekday in Hollywood.

That is less a tragedy than it is a punchline, and it is surpassed in terms of humiliation only by having to incur the pity of those passersby who witnessed my experiment with new and improved ways of breaking both my fall and my spirits. Because while I may be able to once again walk with only minimal searing pain in my left knee, I yet feel the fresh wounds to my pride every time I recall the mixture of shock and amusement on the faces of those fortunate enough to witness this brief entertainment.

I may be lucky to be alive and ambulatory, but I am most definitely unfortunate in having to wear the constant shame of riding a scooter and not a legitimate motorcycle as a 34-year-old single man. It’s possible the scooter alone may be responsible for my inability to secure a female companion, but this may also be due to the halitosis, my fear of spiders, and my fear of commitment, so perhaps blaming the scooter is undue externalization on my part.

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