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So I run, a lot. I’ve dealt with assholes trying to throw soda on me to screaming as they drive by, or yelling ‘fag’ at my brightly colored 6 inch shorts (they do have an inner netting). The thing I hate the MOST is when people honk, not to alert me of their presence, but to try to scare me, I mean loud ass slam on your horn for 5 seconds types of honks.

Anyway, I noticed that a white camaro in my neighborhood always did this when he saw me running. It turns out to be some teenage punk. One day, I see the car coming up from behind me on a reflection on a parked car. So I prime myself for an Oscar worthy performance.

Sure enough, he honks as he passes. I stop, and clutch my chest, I mean, like informercial levels of dramatics. And I crumble on the street. The little jerk has a conscience, apparently, because he turns the car around and drives back. He gets out and is audibly freaking out.

I’m still playing dead and he gets closer to try to check on me. He crouches down next to me to try to check for breathing.

I SCREAM in his ear, get back up, and go on the rest of my run.

Haven’t had to deal with the white camaro since.