After frustration with cars, traffic, gas prices, and closed spaces, I’ve been riding my bike much more than usual. One blistery afternoon I took a spin up north through the Venice boardwalk to Santa Monica. Passing hippies, homeless evangelists, and a smiling black man with a sign that read “Give me $, support your local wino” I felt at home. But then I nearly vomited when I saw a man passing on his segway.
Being a techy, I can respect the advance that the segway has made in the stagnant field of personal mobility. I might like them if it didn’t seem like everyone who rides them are complete robots themselves. They feel so out of place… and dangerously so in a place like Venice.
Don’t get me wrong. Part of me wishes I could lean towards my destination while resolutely facing the robotronic future. But not in public.
The next time a segway driver hums past with a bright blue helmet, a goofy 4 year old ‘look at me mommy’ grin and pleated ‘I wank off at the golf course’ pants I swear I’m going to break a vow I took when I turned 10. That vow cannot be spoken for it involves evil deeds.