Arguing With A Scooter Punk After He Sped Off

I saw a kid on a motorized scooter and shouted, “You got a license for that thing?”

“I’m 11,” he yelled back.

“That’s no excuse,” I responded, shaking my fist.

He sped off like a rocket. If there was a seat on that scooter, then it would qualify as a little bitty motorcycle. It’s a gateway hog.

Do you know what happens if a whole bunch of delinquents put seats on their motorized scooters? I’ll tell you what. I got a junior motorcycle gang in my neighborhood. My dinners get interrupted by the low hum of a gaggle of small-amped motors. Tweens with fake tattoos eating beef jerky leaning against buildings in their leather chaps. Motor mommies packing their powder blue minivans with tricked out scooters.

It’s all downhill from here. I bet you like going downhill, don’t ya, scooter punk? Yes. It was a rhetorical question, wise ass.

A motor on a scooter defeats the purpose of scooting. You still have to balance and steer but without the leg exercise. How else are you supposed to get your calves in shape at such a young age?

Walking.

Playing sports.

Jumping up to touch the ceiling fan.