Bikram in the Steel City, Day 75

The Strip, where my yoga studio is located, has been choked with people and cars since Christmas.  Now, just days before the Superbowl, it is jammed with CRAZED STEELER FANS.  Everywhere round, black-and-gold clad Black and White Pittsburghers move slowly along the sidewalks, perusing crowded tables of hats, gloves, socks, tee-shirts, sweatshirts, dog collars, pins, scarves, and, naturally, Terrible Towels.    It’s hard not to get into the spirit, impossible not to smile.  On every street corner Yinzer stores blare “Let’s Go”

In Penn Mac, the great, old-time grocery where you can buy all the cheeses of the world from a plump middle-aged lady who calls you “dear heart,” and choose from the greatest selection of pasta, anchovies, tomato sauces, olive oils, vinegars, salami, and all things Italian, for the best prices in town, you hear this song:

Prestogeorge’s, which has been roasting its own coffee beans and selling fine teas and cheeses for thousands of years, put up a sign that said “NO WISCONSIN CHEDDAR WILL BE SOLD UNTIL AFTER THE GAME”.

A man with bizarre headgear and a Steelers cape was reportedly dancing up and down the streets at six o’clock this morning, crowing with joy.  And we could hear the vendor below our studio calling out, “5 Dollars, 5 Dollars” all through our yoga practice today.  We giggled a lot during sivasana.

So, as you can imagine, it was almost impossible to find a parking spot. I was running late this morning, so I squeezed into a space that I probably would have skipped had I had more time. As I was easing my car into place, I very lightly touched the bumper of the car behind me, and heard an angry shout.  I popped out of my car and apologized sincerely.  The man–as wide as he was tall, bald, and very red–began to curse me out.  “I see you down here all the time and you drive a stupid, shoebox for a car and you can’t drive and you’re an asshole and blah-blah-blah-blah blah.”   “I’m really sorry, but there is no damage,” I said again.  “I don’t give a shit!!!”  he screamed, and continued to insult me, blah-blah-blah-blah-blah.  Then he threatened to ram my car and push it out into traffic.  I told him that I would call the police if did that, and wished him a nice day.

Seventy-four or even sixty days ago, I probably would have gotten into it with him and yelled back. Instead I kept my cool.  I even  felt sorry for him and made the sign of Namaste (it means: I acknowledge the divine in you and in me).  When I told a friend about it in the studio, he said.  “Men are always trying to intimidate women, you know.”  It hadn’t even occurred to me that he was trying to bully me, but that was obviously what had been going on.   I just figured that he was in a lot of pain and decided to take it out on me.  This was not my usual response.  I have a temper, especially when some,”man,” who is really a wuss,  is trying to scare me.   I get pissed off and escalate the violence.  I’m not proud of this.

Yeah, I worried about whether he was going to hurt my car, off and on, throughout class, but not very anxiously.  I was working too hard in some poses to think about anything but staying upright, or lifting, and too tired afterwards to do anything but catch my breath.  I giggled as the Vendor outside interrupted sivasana crying “5 dollars, 5 dollars.” I even bought a Terrible Towel after class.

The mean, red-faced man’s car was gone when I returned to my car.  And he had not rammed it.   I thought about going into the café where he works to complain to his boss, but decided against it.  It would only have escalated the bad feelings.  Plus, I felt great.  Relaxed, loose, easy.  The sun was out. Everybody on the street was excited about the end of the work week, and the coming football game.  Why fight when you can simply walk or drive away?