Last night we were driving down Central Avenue in downtown Phoenix when I looked through the front window to see a woman in a biker jacket crawl up from the ground, and then limp along as she tried to stand up. I was riding in the passenger’s seat, and so I handed my coffee to someone in the car and darted out the door.

There was Harley Davidson Fatboy bike laying on it’s side, and a dude laying down behind it grabbing his leg. His face was twisting with pain. A salty cigarette-bobbing waitress in her 40s got to the scene seconds before I did. We were an unlikely team, but she and I together lifted the bike up and moved it out of the entryway to the parking lot before someone plowed through it. (This seemed like the priorities were wrong, but the rider of the bike told us to do it.) The bike was as heavy as a horse. Once the kickstand was out and the bike was steadied, I ran back to the guy on the asphalt to wave off the traffic so he didn’t get run over. I tried to comfort him, but he was most freaked out that the police and ambulance was coming and the bike wasn’t his. He said over and over again in a slow, pain-filled voice, “That’s not my bike. That’s not my bike.”

–Now I don’t think he stole the motorcycle. Because if he did, he would’ve had to walk around town with his girlfriend, both equipped with leather jackets and helmets, until they found a bike worthy of stealing. If they did hot-wire the bike, it seems bizarre that they would’ve been cruising around town on a Friday night.–

His leg was all screwed up. I don’t to describe which way it was bending because Candyce might read this and she’d throw up. But this guy had to be in pain. Johnny and Danny were next to me by this time, and the three of us helped carry him out of the street and onto a chair near the entryway of the restaurant. The whole time he kept repeating, “That’s not my bike. I just slipped and fell and broke my leg.” At this point, he didn’t seem as delirious as he did manipulative. I felt like he was giving me instructions that I was supposed to repeat to the cops whose sirens were getting louder by the second. By this time, he had a few helpers around him and I knew it was our time to get out of there.

Once we were in the car, Danny said that he almost responded to his moaning: “Yeah man, I know how it goes. I trashed a my buddy’s bike too.” This was outrageously funny because Danny did in fact trash Johnny’s bike last year, and Johnny was sitting next to him when he said this. As tragic as the two bike wrecks were, the irony was hilarious enough to keep us laughing all the way home.

Downtown to Celebrate

We went downtown last night to celebrate Adam and Carolyna’s upcoming wedding at Lisa G Wine Bar. I’ve read a lot about the restaurant, and it seemed like the perfect place to celebrate with friends: classy, casual, and cozy.

As much as I enjoyed dinner, I need to complain about the greedy sonofabitch waiter. I’m 28 now, and I’ve been to dozens of places around the country who pride themselves in the wine selection. And to date, only one waiter actually had something of substance to say when I’ve ask for a suggestion. The rest of the waiters always recommend the same thing: the most expensive wine on the list. For them, a $15 bottle of wine brings a $3 tip, and a $30 bottle of wine brings a $6 tip. I mean, don’t they think they’ll get caught being greedy?

Let’s say he didn’t do that out of greed. Then he could’ve at least made a case for the wine he chose. Or even better, he could’ve shown expertise by first considering the food on the table, suggesting three wines each of them in a different price range. Then he could explain what you get by investing $10 or $20 more. Then I could make an educated decision and feel great about it. But no, he was too greedy to do something so logical and considerate. He pointed to the high-dollar wine as fast as an arrow through the heart of a target. I actually tried to nudge the him into reality by asking him if there were any other wines on the menu he might suggest. All he could do was frown and shake his head: “I’ve never had anyone not like this wine.” As if by disagreeing with him, I’d dissappoint the thousands of elitists who’ve allowed me to sit in their company.

(I’ve learned a lot about greed since I’ve graduated high school. Greed is everywhere. You can’t treat everyone as if they are greedy, because that would be unfair. But you need to sniff out greed and know how to deal with it, or otherwise you’ll have dollars fleeced from every pocket.)

After dinner at Lisa G, we bravely drove through the construction to Lux Coffee Bar, a place I discovered a few years ago on a hot afternoon in downtown Phoenix. It was pretty exciting to sip on our hot drinks on such a cold night, looking out the big front windows onto a road ripped apart to make room for the Light Rail System that’ll connect Mesa to Tempe, and Tempe to Phoenix. It’s going to be a great catalyst for change downtown.