So I stopped at my FLIBS to order a sending unit, it seems my fan isn't kicking on and the motor is running hotter as such. In theory, a quick and simple chore, right?


Not when the person in front of you is a dudeman.

For twenty minutes I had to subject myself to listening to this utter moron who tried to convince both the parts counter guy and shop owner that you really can fit a square peg into a round hole. As it turned out, our Dudeman was in a particular dilemma that he needed a new chain for his bike. He brought his old sprockets in to match up the size.

Problem? He had a 520 front sprocket and a 525 rear, so naturally neither chain size would fit both. But he spent the entire twenty minutes trying to convince the staff that he had a chain that did fit both, and why was it so difficult to get one just like it? Of course he didn't have the forethought to bring this mystical chain in with the sprockets.

Nope, I --- along with others behind me as the line continued to form --- had to take my prescribed dosage of brain bleach as we stood there listening to this diatribe of dumb-assery.

The shop has this big bin up front with a bunch of loose sprockets, and the parts counter guy was able to produce a pair of sprockets that matched up to both the tooth count and bolt set in 520 and the other in 525.

"I don't need new sprockets, I need a new chain."

Why, for the sake of modern advanced civilization, can't we pass an exclusion to assault and battery? Or even murder? Certain breeds of animals kill their offspring, and here we have a perfect example of why we need to practice this.

Instead everyone has to listen to this clown as he insists, despite advice from both of the store staff (and others in line) who advise changing the sprockets and chain together, that there is a magic chain out there that fits a 520 front and 525 rear sprocket. I'm sure he bought this chain from the same guy that sold Jack his beanstalk beans, but nobody was buying it. Nope, we got to enjoy the comedy team of Abbot and Abbot as he test fitted his 520 and 525 sprockets to various 520 and 525 chains in the store only to discover that each chain would indeed only fit one or the other sprocket, but not both.

Finally the owner tells the guy to bring in this inter-dimensional chain so that they could match it up (no doubt to sate the curiosity as to how that chain must look, considering the mismatched sprockets it was travelling over)...and finally the guy agrees to this simple logic. As he leaves he asks the owner's name, and introduces himself, parting with "Everywhere I go everyone remembers me."

Which was the first bit of sense that came out of his mouth. If I owned a business and saw him coming, I wouldn't be able to turn the CLOSED sign around fast enough.

Finally he leaves, and I am able to approach the counter to order my sending unit. In the middle of it, Dudeman waltzes back through the door exclaiming "Hey, which one of you owns this red 600 Shadow custom out here?"

My bike. What did I ever do to deserve this? I looked at him, and back at the parts counter guy...and went back to my business. This doorknob delayed me long enough, there's only so many hours in the day and I had to return to work tomorrow. Not to mention the wife was back home cooking up some lunch. And I really needed this sending unit, preferably before this dingbat went off on another one of his lengthy yawn inducing yarns of fantasy. My patience had already been tried, tested, and found wanting. As much as I would have liked to entertain some more dude-isms, I'd had my quota for the day.

He finally retreated back out the door again, lingered by my bike for a bit, and got into his truck and left. Just as my business had concluded. I hung around for a few minutes ogling the small collection of used/consignment bikes for sale in the shop...just to give him enough time to get going and ensure I wouldn't encounter him on the road.

Sometimes it's just best to avoid them.