When I was in my first couple years of high school, I used to ride my good old trusted mountain bike to school. The journey was about 8 kilometers. I rode everyday, rain or shine, up hills both ways, and still enjoyed the sweaty shirt in class every single day. Kids these days, they complained about having to wait for the school bus, heh.
On a fateful evening when I was riding back from school, the traffic was heavy. I was weaving through cars behind a red light to get in front like any respected bikers would. The weather was hot, I was tired, cars were alot, and the road was narrow. Inevitably the steering of my bike hit a proton saga’s left side rear view mirror. Being 13 and barely 5 feet tall, I quickly raced forward without even looking at the car I hit, fearing the driver might just pawn my ass.
I got home nonetheless, that driver didn’t chase me. I guess it was perhaps just a small scratch, or perhaps the spring system in the mirror worked and the car didn’t suffer any damage.
Took my shower, and didn’t think about the incident anymore. Then we had dinner, and my dad suddenly asked
“Why did you run away after hitting my rear view mirror?”
I went “…. “