Kathleen Santacruz / Daily Nexus

I huff. I puff. I’m a hard worker, and I work hard to get to where I am. Or rather, to get to where I’m going. I take pedaling my little pedals and pumping my little, human legs with the utmost seriousness, above all. When I am on the bike path, I am no longer a simple, little human. I am an unstoppable force of pure industry, working to get to my next class, my next lecture, my next purpose. When I have a destination, I become the journey, and the best journeys go by quickly and before my 11 a.m. lecture starts. My journey does not consist of other people, my journey consists of the road. My journey does not consist of being stuck behind some fool that does not understand the prior agreement any bike owner makes to go their hardest out of consideration for others, or to move to the right side of the path. My journey does, however, consist of strategic road mapping to find the most optimal way to achieve the speediest speed on my speeder.

When you’re making your way over to your puny, little class and you look behind you to see who the fuck is following you so close that they’re basically wearing your clothes with you breathing down your bicycle’s neck, don’t second guess who you see. It will be me, because you’re going at the speed of the trail of ants next to the bike path. Get out. Leave. Literally, take your bike and start riding across the grass, because at the speed you’re going, you’ll get to class at the same time anyways. It’s what you deserve. If you are not taking the B-Path seriously, go join the other lowly commoners and walk on the sidewalk made for little babies and people who come to class carrying a tote bag.

When you’re gallivanting and swerving around between lanes, on your way to who-the-fuck-knows in such a gigantuous amount of time, don’t be surprised as I assert my dominance by speeding around you, zipping by without more than a whisper. That will be me, living dangerously and being completely rambunctious, but achieving every desire and manifesting good things and a life of success. And, what are you doing, behind me, becoming a little speck in the distance as you eat my dust? You’re going to be late — CHEM 1A starts in three minutes and you still have to lock up your bike. I’m really the only one who knows what’s best for you.

There are some people in this world who have places to go and people to see. The road is made for people who believe that bikes are a higher form of transportation — transportation which is higher because it is supposed to be faster. Your beach cruiser is not meant for being a pretty color while you clog up the bike path with your unusually large handlebars. That bike of yours is a well-oiled machine that you can utilize to your advantage if only you realized its full potential. Your hands are not made for holding your phone in your lap while you hold onto your bike seat with your butt and cruise on along. That is illegal. You could crash and get hurt. Really, I’m looking out for your best interest here.

This capitalist wormhole is not made for people to plan ahead, achieve real happiness or take their time. It is made to go fast, not to wait for anyone, and to hate people. And, similar to all economics and communication majors ever, those are exactly the morals that I hold while I’m on the B-Path.

Meel F. Lover is faster than fast, quicker than quick — she is speed.