Sore, Grumpy, And Not Writing About Art

I was happily, innocently biking home yesterday afternoon, rushing along because of some dark storm clouds in the air. I was in the bike lane going down Avenue A, a relatively calm bit of traffic. I was just thinking I was going to beat the rain home, when a cab door opened in front of me. 3 seconds later I was on the ground. OWW!

So may I suggest, if you are getting out a cab and for some reason get out on the street side rather than the curb, that you look to see if anyone's coming? Lucky for the cab it was just me. If it had been a car instead, it would have knocked the door off. And I may say 'just me', but really I want to let lose a torrential babble about how I could have been seriously injured and how unattractive my bruises are. Anyhow, that's the justified crankiness talking.

Aside from the girl who opened the door (who is probably normal and not a malicious idiot), everyone was so helpful. I'd rather have a bike accident in Manhattan than anywhere else--there's no end of good Samiritans. Out of nowhere a man started yelling at the girl for me , another guy helped pick up my bike, two were giving medical advice, someone else refixed my bike basket onto my bike and squashed it in the back of the cab, and the cabbie took me home.

Now I need to pop up to Union Square for something, but--sigh--I really don't want to take my bike this morning.