Master of Doucheness, Prince of Tools, and Head Asshat

Frank Rant

Douche bag, tool, asshat. All of these describe me at one time or another. It always depends on which end of the horse your riding, as to whether or not I meet the criteria. This past weekend I know there is a father of a 250 Novice whom thinks I am all of the above. As is sometimes the case I was innocent this time, I swear it.

There have been plenty of times that I will admit to being the king of douchieness. If you come to my door and try to sell me something I can be a really big douche, tool, or asshole. If I want something I will go buy it. I don’t want to purchase anything from anybody at my front door. Don’t come to my door and try to convert me to your religion, that isn’t happening either. I have zero patience for door to door solicitors, salesmen, etc., so yes douche will be the flavor of the day.

One (time at bandcamp), actually at a Supercross race, in the Coliseum, probably about 94. I was standing in the pits talking with a couple of people I know, when I was verbally accosted by an obviously inebriated gentleman who on the other side of the pit fence was demanding that I give him my pass so that he could come and hang out with all what he thought were cool people in the pits. I told him to lay off the beer, to which he proceeded to call me an asshole at the top of his voice. It really set him off when I walked up to the fence and told him yes, I was an asshole, but at least I wasn’t drunk and dragging a ten year old around with me. To which he really got angry, and then called me an f#$% asshole, to which I again agreed I must be, but at least I had a pass.

There have been several times when racers decided to rumble with other racers. I have had to physically stop some these adults at times when they crossed the line. I’m not going to stand for racer kicking another racer who is stuck under a bike, or a one sided fist fight between someone twice as big as someone else. In those cases, to the offending party at that moment I was definitely a tool, sometimes the whole tool bag. Usually after a little time to think and cool off they change their mind and realize who the actual tool was.

So this past weekend I was talking with a good friend who has helped me many times at the race track with engineering issues. We were discussing the start gate and why it is so hard to lift now. The angle on the lever was changed when we redid the center section, and it needs to be redone. So Saturday after lifting the heavy SOB 25 times, we were talking about why it was so much heavier, to which I told him it was partially caused by racers packing the dirt around the bar. I used a few choice words in my description not realizing that I was speaking louder than I should have been due to the headphones I had been wearing for 6 hours. Apparently a father took great umbrage with my comments thinking I was talking to him. I didn’t even know he had heard me, but I was tired, dehydrated, sick of picking up that heavy ass gate, and as is usually the case mentally dead at that point in the day. So to that father I apologize for my comments. It wasn’t you who made the gate any harder to lift; it was poor design, and a long day at the races. I did go looking to apologize after the race but couldn’t find you. Truth be known all I remember was he was wearing a red shirt. So yes I can understand why he might think I was the master of doucheness, prince of tools, and head asshat. I accept the label with regret this weekend because I really didn’t mean to be rude to this gentleman. And in this case I apologize. But, if he had been trying to sell me recycled, Church of what’s happening now made, solar panels for vinyl rain gutters, that he has left over from another job, at half price at my front door all bets are off.