"Dr. Huxtable" to blame

I sideswiped an orange and white city taxi at a fairly irresponsible rate of speed on my way to work this morning. Surprisingly, I don't really have any ill will towards the offending driver, because despite it being entirely my fault (I don't recall seeing his "right" turn signal as I wisely decided to pass him on the right), he immediately lept from his cab to smash my idiot face in see if me and my sweet ride were all right, of course, profusely apologizing as though he had just accidentally run over my firstborn with a lawnmower. He seemed genuinely concerned too--unheard of for someone whose profession professionally despises cyclists, advocating collateral damage at the expense of a timely customer drop-off. Seeing as the shock of impact knocked the Japanese alphabet clean out of my head, it took a few moments of breathless epileptic charades before I could clearly tell him my bike and I were fine. Even funnier though, was how he continued bowing and apologizing while attempting to re-affix the driver's side mirror that my left knee had totally owned the shit out of. Coming from the United States of "May God Have Mercy on Your Soul If It's Your Fault," where typical fender-bender culture recommends you arm yourself with a practical negotiation tool, it's an unbelievable relief to swap paint on these J-train streets, and not have to worry about a tire iron to the face.

Hopefully I'll have the good luck to crash into him again. Hook him up with a matching set of killer aerodynamic dents and scratches for the passenger's side.
Maybe then he'll buy me a beer.