On January eighth, the first working day after Three Kings' Day, the festival began, and it still lasts. Their majesties, instead of bringing the typical (that myrrh, that incense, that gold…) brought scooters, to the misfortune of Segway and bicycle sellers. Watching the new scooter users is a spectacle that, now that we cannot go to Barça's field, helps us pass the anxiety of "frankfurt and circus," as the Romans used to say. It is evident that Barcelona needs urgent regulation to avoid greater evils.
It's quite exciting to see how cyclists, who until two days ago were of the lowest caste, that of the shudras, have now risen a degree in the hierarchy and are now the vaishyas, because scooters have become the new shudras (above all are the brahmins, who are the cars, and below, the pedestrians, who in theory should be kshatriyas, but often we are the pariahs). Now, cyclists scold those on scooters (we lack a word, like scooterists or scooter-riders, to define them) just as pedestrians used to scold them. Pedestrians, now, scold both.
The scooter rider has an odious characteristic directly inspired by mythology. Just as the centaur was half man, half horse, the scooter rider is half man, half vehicle (please take this "man" as generic and do not try to see any gender connotation in it). The scooter rider behaves like a vehicle in the bike lane and, in fact, has a motor. But what does he do when he reaches a pedestrian crossing? Then he does not behave like a vehicle (if he behaved like a vehicle he would have to wait for me to pass!), but like a biped and crosses in the same place as me. Silently, to be able to run me over comfortably and aseptically. And once he has crossed as a biped, he becomes a vehicle again to continue circulating at 30 per hour and arrive before me at the Oysho queue.