Death by Delivery Guy
As I roam the pee-stained streets of Manhattan (reference this for more details on that subject), I often speculate about whether there are more bicycle delivery guys on this cramped island than there are people. Usually, I escape being mauled by at least 14 of these specimens even as I ponder them.
My official plea to bicycle delivery boys across New York (and beyond):
Please don’t kill me. Don’t fancy yourself a hero on a makeshift two-wheeled ambulance set to save the day with your expeditious delivery of kung-pao chicken. No amount of saag paneer is worth me losing my life. The earth as we know it will not cease to exist if you try riding in the direction of the traffic just once, I promise.
As I reflect on today’s three near-misses at the hands of 75 mph 5-foot speed demons, it’s starting to make sense to me why they’re beginning to outnumber pedestrians. Soon there will be delivery dudes galore – but no one to deliver to.
Think about it, fellas. And walk safely, friends.
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