My last visit to the barbers was interesting. Me sat in a chair with shop owner cutting my hair. Some bloke in the next chair, one of the girls cutting his hair:
Bloke: Bloody cyclists are a menace, I saw one riding on the road today!
Me: Eyebrows raised
Bloke: They’re always in the way. Don’t get me wrong, I wouldn’t want to hurt one but if they insist on riding out from the kerb I’m bound to come by close.
Girl: Yeah, I usually just run them off the road, blimmin nuisance, titter titter.
Shop owner: There should be a rule against them using the road, it’s not like they pay road tax
Me: Trying hard not to laugh at their stupidity and then rant long and hard.
Bloke: It’s quite good fun to see how close you can get to them.
Girl: Yeah, titter, and run them off the road.
Bloke: There’s always some idiot in a car that insists on waiting for ages to pass them too. I’m like, what’s your problem mate, just squeeze by, they’ll be fine.
At which point I can take no more and point out that I’m a cyclist, commute over 100 miles a week, and find myself in dangerous situations at least once a day because of people like him. I regale them with hilarious tales of almost being run off the road by impatient morons who insist on trying to squeeze by because some other considerate soul ‘took too long to pass’ only to find themselves with the uncomfortable (but quite easy) choice of (in order of preference) a) run the cyclist onto the grass verge, b) hit the approaching traffic head on, or c) hit the brakes and admit their stupidity.
Queue tumbleweeds and a very prompt haircut.