TRUE STORY!

Every month, Ato will post a true story that happened during his career.  Of course, being on the road since 1995 and also being in a group like HSI, he has a ton of stories.

Enjoy.

JULY 2005

"LOVE DON'T LIVE HERE ANYMORE"

July 26th, 2002 - 3 years ago, TODAY...

I had just come from a meeting with my father, discussing his health, among other things, and was headed back to my condo in the north-western part of Trinidad.  I saw some friends and even though they were going in the opposite direction, back some 10 minutes where I had just come from, I gave them a lift, since I was driving and they were on foot.

 It seemed like any other night. 

I turned onto the “PBR” – the “BUS ROUTE” as it is called, which connects the east –west corridor of Trinidad. It’s a route reserved for government vehicles and ministers and a few, like myself, who had been given a pass to legally drive on it.

 A mere five minutes later, it happened.

 Listening to music, thinking about what I could do further to convince my father to stay on top of his health issues, a taxi swerved from his side of the street to my right, and hit my car head on, from the right side - the impact throwing the car back into the shoulder and into a sign post.

When you see lights coming at you at that speed, you think it’s the last thing you are ever going to see.  I certainly did.

The airbags deployed, the car held up well, and my life was spared that night, thank God.

 It was also the end of my career, for all intents and purposes. 

 In 2001, my body had begun, at times, to show the effects of a seven-year pro career. This accident just accelerated my decline - quickly.

Before the accident, I had 28 sub-ten 100m races and nine sub-20 200m in 6 years, with at least one sub-ten every year. In the 2 years following the accident, up until my retirement, not a single one, of either. 

 As I crawled out of the mangled car, I was thankful that I was ok.  The driver was not as fortunate.  He was bruised and bloody, and had his right leg amputated, eventually.  He had been driving very drunk, as was confirmed by the officers on the scene.  That didn't need to be confirmed, since the stench of alcohol from the wreckage was evident to everyone who was there.  To this day, I still feel the effects of the impact.  My hip hurts on days when it is cloudy, a symptom other serious collision victims tell me is quite normal.

 Now comes the part that I have never mentioned before.

 That incident represented for me a change in my relationship with my country.  I can say, with all honesty, that I love my country beyond measure, but I am very wary of her – and many of her ways.

 Instead of people being concerned about a drunk driver almost killing me, the stupid rumors started.  “I heard there was a girl in the car!”  (If she was she was invisible and unhurt) “Why was Ato driving on the PBR?” (I had been licensed to drive there for some 7 years at that date). That was to be expected – people like to gossip about people in the public eye.

 What I have never forgotten, though, is the complete nonchalance with which this incident was handled. Call it my “Americanization”, but I believe in things being done right the first time.  I believe that when things are done wrongly they should be openly criticized - people should speak up AND act.  I believe that a penalty should be paid when wrong is done, IN EVERY CASE! 

The police procedures were a joke.  A waste of time.  Forget for a second that my car was broken into on the police compound where it had been towed to.  Despite the many hours of ‘investigation’ and ‘interviews’, this man was never prosecuted or penalized for what anywhere else in the world would be a criminal act, and in fact, if you ask the person on the street today, they might tell you I hit him!  Worst of all, his family had the impudence to go to the press and suggest that I was 'insensitive' for not visiting him in the hospital, or checking to see how he was doing.  My retort was that I was SO sure they would have sent Bri Boldon checks in the mail if their drunk father had killed me that night.  The only thing that prevented him from killing or almost killing someone else after that was his amputated right leg.  You can’t drive drunk anymore without a foot, can you?

 So, Trinidad, you will forgive me if I have since been very guarded.  To watch the decline of my home - a country that I represented on so many levels for years, it drives me absolutely insane that the people who live there put up with constant second and third rate every thing, including justice and almost every possible public service or convenience.   Some will always find me to be a voluble troublemaker, because I would rather die than see so much of the nonsense that goes on there unchecked - all the while, so many just shrug their shoulders.  Apathy is almost a requirement to survive in a place that people feel powerless in so many situations, I suppose. 

 I have long since forgiven Jamaal Razack for the error in judgment he made on July 26^th, 2002, and I really hope he has recovered as best he can, but I have never forgotten how it was handled, and what that showed me about a place that I thought would have “had my back,” so to speak. 

In many ways, it was a blessing in disguise, because I know now that although I love Trinidad and Tobago, my country has issues which I can’t tolerate, and maybe when more people are willing to be front-liners and not sideliners, things can truly change.  I have always been a front-liner, and I will never be scared to speak my truth, no matter who it bothers or ruffles. 

 If you think none of this matters to you, consider if that is how I was treated, how you would be treated, my fellow citizens.

 "I love you, and because I love you, I would sooner have you hate me for telling you the truth than adore me for telling you lies.”

 http://sports.espn.go.com/espn/print?id=1410485&type=news

MORAL: Don't drive drunk.  The way to dissuade people from killing other people on the roads with their vehicles is to have an actual penalty for so doing.

JUNE 2005

"POLICE REFORM"

I always show respect for the forefathers, for the predecessors, for those that paved the way.  Santa Monica Track Club, from a lot of the stories that I heard, "did it big", especially Carl Lewis.  Private jets, helicopters, and the like (in Europe).  I am sure that was frowned/hated upon in some circles, especially back then, but when are the haters not out in full force in track?  Carl is one of the best athletes ever - why shouldn't he have done all those things....athletes in golf and tennis etc. had been doing it for years. Andre Agassi has had his OWN jet (complete with a tennis ball on the tail ) for a decade or more, I am sure.

That was the part I hated the most about this sport - haters galore.  Why are you hating on me?  I remember a certain now-retired female sprinter who I referred to as "MISS HATES" bemoaning HSI having a TV show on Eurosport in 2003.  So what?  Does that further the sport to the public, or not?  That show was immensely popular everywhere, even though 2003 was HSI's worst year.  Why was she letting it bother her?  Probably because she always had to hate something.  Just her nature.  I'm sure she has a lot to hate these days - like LIFE!  In 1999, we introduced huge HSI flags in the stadiums all over Europe,  It looked like a Formula 1 stadium. The fans loved it.  Competitors didn't.  Too much self(HSI)-promotion, they said.  Beat us then, we said!  Soon the IAAF insisted that they be gone.  As if HSI was selling something or ruining the sport by making fans get passionate about our club.  They, I guess, had better ideas on how to endear us to a (still) fast-dwindling public, like ridiculous new false-start rules.  That's gone really well so far, don't you think?

This section is supposed to be a lot less serious than my blogs.

Sorry.

When HSI formed in 1996, the day I turned pro in June, 9 years ago this week, in fact, we knew we wanted to do what so many had failed to do in track and field - and that is - push the envelope, try new things, market ourselves and our sport differently, reach out to the fans through the internet and fan clubs and clinics and videos, and we have more than done that, I think. 

We've had best-selling video games, and a popular TV show in Europe.  Appearances on everything from Who Wants to Be a Millionaire, The Today Show, Late Night With David Letterman and Call for Help on Tech TV meant those were a few of the many places you saw us.  Those aren't places you'd typically find track athletes!  We never believed that it was wrong to go out and find new track fans in places others might not think to look.  Almost everyone has run before.  People can relate, and we trusted that.

The main thing that we wanted to do, though, is have fun.  In Europe, you ask anyone who ever saw us, whether they "hated it" or not - we had the most fun of anyone. 

That's (right to left) Larry Wade, Maurice Greene, Bernard Williams, and me, in Nice, France. 

Anyhow, finally, I'll get to the point.  One night, in the same model of car above, but RED, I was driving WAYYY too fast through the streets of some other French city when some cops, (on foot) not too far from my hotel, tried to stop me (from the sidewalk, with their powerful...WHISTLES!).  I live in LA, ok?  We don't stop for cops (Does Rodney King, or OJ Simpson ring a bell?) - and cops on foot?  Please! I definitely was not stopping.  I pretended not to see/hear them. 

Bad idea.

 I was safe (I thought) in my hotel room when the phone rang in the room.  It was the front desk.

"Uh, Monsieur Boldon, please can u come down stairs I believe the police are here they are looking for you"

Well, "genius" that I am, it never occurred to me that maybe these police could tell when a pro athlete was visiting because of the Italian car he was strapped into all around town, which stuck out like a sore thumb among the other smaller, quieter, more gas-economical varieties in the city.  I certainly was not the first, or the last.  So they hadn't run after the Ferrari on foot, they just walked calmly to the hotel where they knew all such athletes stay. 

At first I thought "hey, why should I go downstairs?" because I could just "hide out" in my room, right?  I decided to look out from my balcony.  Great.  There is the car, engine still steaming, parked downstairs. Thanks, Mr. French hotel valet park-er!

Ok so I have to go downstairs, I guess.  I put on my best smile and head downstairs.  The French cops do  not seem amused. 

"Ah, good evening.  You are Monsieur Boldon, no?"

"Uh, yeah"

WOW! This is definitely NOT the Los Angeles Police Department!    No guns drawn, no clubs to the head, no tasers!

(HEAVY FRENCH ACCENT): "Uh, please, er... we saw you travelling very fast a little while ago.  Please, er, we need you to slow down, sir, because the speed limit in the city is 30 kilometres an hour

I did my best contrite-I'm-so-sorry-routine, but in my head I was thinking - 30 km/h is like 20mph - that car does that...in PARK, standing still! HA!

They left with nothing more than my promise to slow down in the city, and I did not speed thru the city anymore, especially when I pictured myself running over some croissant-eating French child.   That would NOT be good!

The next time I was stopped was on the freeway doing about 220km/h. "What does that convert to in MPH, officer?"  Yikes!  This stop was even more embarrassing to me because it was from a tiny French Peugeot but they have like nitro or something, because that car can't run down a Ferrari if its the stock model.

Those cops were even funnier - one said to the other while he looked at my licence, "Hey, we caught Ato Boldon!  He's one of the world's fastest men and we caught him!" Thank God I understand French o.k. or I would have missed that quote!

Um, it's not exactly the same thing, guys, but hey - no ticket, so yes - they caught me!

Let me go on record now as an official ambassador of Sport for the Republic Of Trinidad and Tobago (who lives in LA):

The U.S.A. should adopt the European policy of letting recognizable sprinters off with a warning for ANY traffic offense. 

Looking back, now, I realize I was glad that I didn't bother about who didn't like it or who was jealous or who thought whatever.  I/We just had a ton of fun and it made a sometimes tough job easier, and now that it's all said and done, I look back realizing we did all we could, while we could.  Can't ever ask for more than that

MORAL:  Don't let anyone spoil your fun (but of course don't be stupid and kill yourself in a car on winding European roads like I almost did so many times). 

This is a one way-ticket - this thing called life.  You can't go back and do over yesterday!

MAY 2005

"POOR MO!"

In 1998, I started the year by running 9.86 for 100m, pointing at the clock at 95m, at the Mt. Sac Relays (not smart). At the time the 100m WR was 9.84.  My next scheduled meet was Trinidad's (now very-extinct) Hampton Games, so it was only natural to try to break the 100m WR at home.  I was in the shape of my life and knew it was very possible...I run well in the heat!  It's not an accident that I have my fastest career times in Athens, Los Angeles and Modesto.

Everyone in HSI from Los Angeles went to Trinidad for that meet in 1998.  Everyone.  HSI assistants, wives, children got pulled out of school, everything.  To them it was just another meet and a chance to hang out in the Caribbean and get paid to do so.  To me it was a chance to break the 100m WR at home in front of my friends (and critics).  I stayed in Trinidad at my dad's house, no calls, no reporters, no fun, no nothing...train, eat, sleep for a week.  I was focused.

Meanwhile Maurice Greene and everyone else had the ultimate...they were staying at this great resort called the Coco Reef in Tobago, they would fly over every day to train (20 min flight) then go back for fun in the sun all day...I even heard stories of kayak races in the ocean well into the night...a great trip for them.

Well, the night of the my 100m WR attempt just wasn't to be.  It rained, then the wind was a headwind, then the (stupid) starter shot the gun before everyone was set, and Dennis Mitchell got out on me so far with the quick gun that I threw my whole race plan away and just ran him down....I ran 10.00 that night, nowhere close to the WR, but still the fastest ever run on Trinidad soil.  But things happen and WRs are hard to plan. I knew that going in.

Mo was to run the 200m the next day, against Dennis, who was running both.  So of course the weather is great and the sun is out and it's a perfect day.  I am so jealous because now THESE are world record conditions!  Not 19.31 conditions, but definitely 9.83 conditions! Oh well.  I was running the 4x100m relay anchor later that day, which I never do (I think it's a boring leg), but in front of home crowds we used to make exceptions - but for now I will watch Mo battle Dennis, who I always disliked and who MO had a huge beef with, so it would be good to see Mo trounce the old man.

And trounce he did...he blew everyone away like they were standing still....20.23 if I remember correctly, but very, very easy. Or so it seemed.

I remember finishing an interview about my WR attempt the night before just after he ran, and then looking to my left, back up the home straight of the track...

and Maurice Greene....

proceeded to puke his guts out for about 4 minutes - all over the track!!

I wanted to sympathize, but part of me thought "You have to be kidding me! You're puking over 20.23? That was like a practice run!" - then it hit me - Maurice is a very hard worker, but he was notorious for puking when the workouts were long (as in 150-300).  In 10 years at HSI, I never once got sick, but I know I was weird in that way, plus I had that soccer background so my endurance was always good.  BTW, Inger Miller never did too, in about 6 years so maybe it's a Caribbean parentage thing.

To this day I tease Mo about that when we talk about that meet, because it was just so unexpected that he would get sick off of such an easy 200m race.

If u want to see a re-enactment of that incident, rent the movie TEAM AMERICA. There is only one vomit scene in it.  That was MO!

POOR MO!

MORAL: IN track and field, sometimes the easiest races look hard....and VICE VERSA!

APRIL 2005

"AS THE TRACK TURNS"

At the 1996 Olympics, I was bitterly disappointed to lose the 100m dash.  NBC loves to show me bawling my head off as an "agony of defeat" moment.  I was a mess.  I was more mad at myself for having lost my cool during the false starts, but everyone forgets I was a college senior in that race.  not too many college seniors have been in that spot.  Anyway, we know how that turned out.  I lost my cool pre-race, spent a whole lot of time worrying about Linford, who was in no danger of beating me or any other of the medalists that night, and he knew it.  Over and done with, I surmised...

On to the 200m now.  I am as loose and can be.  I have an Olympic medal in the fastest race ever - at 22.  Money is good, and improving daily - and I don't have to beat anyone in this 200, they have to beat me... Michael Johnson was the one with the ugly gold shoes.  Frankie was someone I had looked up to for years, and I knew if I kept my cool I was going to have a huge personal best run on the Atlanta Olympic track.  I was light, lean and ready.  The 200m was always my better race (if I was recovered for it) and I was.  My whole family was in the stands.  Here I go. 

Now to go forward I have to take u back a little bit.  There is a "psychic", Yesenia Gonzales, in Trinidad, who foresaw "trouble" at the start of the 100m in Atlanta, days before it happened.  I am not a believer in psychics, but I thought it interesting that she had called that before the race, since it's never happened in Olympic history!  Hmmm - Interesting.

Anyhow, I went through the rounds of the 200m easily...the only time I felt remotely pressed was when Frankie and I ran a bit too fast in our semifinal round while Michael Johnson cruised in his, even after we specifically told Jeff Williams to push him, since he was in MJ's semi.  Oh well.  He did the best he could, I suppose, but Jeff wasn't anywhere near MJ and Michael cruised like 20.2 something in a jog, while Frankie and I ran like 19.99 to 20.01 or something like that.  Faster than was necessary, running off of ego.  That would cost us a bit, I figured but hey, MJ was running the 200 after a tough set of 400 rounds in the Atlanta heat...I still think that 43.4 he ran in Atlanta to win the 400m is the hardest to watch, even now.  It LOOKED like it hurt.  I'd get my chance - I had zero to lose...

So, the 200m final is here.  As much as I was trying to tune out Trinidad and what was being said there, I got bits and pieces from phone calls and from word of mouth (happens a lot when you are in the Olympics representing a small country of VERY outspoken people). People were thrilled, but disappointed at me not winning the 100m.  I understood, I was pissed too.  Oh well.  Also, though, I heard that Yesenia (the psychic) had foreseen GLORY FOR ATO in the 200, so again, although, as I said, I am not a believer in psychics,I'd be lying if I didn't in a far reach of my mind think "Hmm, she was right about the 100!"

Maybe I should have asked for clarification on what GLORY was. I my mind, glory was GOLD!

Sorry, I am getting side-tracked!

We walk out, and after much fanfare and applause, the race starts.  As I said, I am loose, because I have nothing no pressure -  the world has no clue I am about to upset the "NIKE gold shoe" parade. SO what if I have run one sub 20 second 200m in my life and MJ and Frankie Fredericks have been running them by the pound for years...so what?  Sprinters don't think that way anyhow - he's (they've) got to do it tonight! 

Here we go. On your marks....set.......POW!

I am in a great lane and it is the best turn of my life. In fact, none of the medalists ever ran a faster turn before that night, or after, their careers.  Because I can't see anyone behind me, from lane 6, and I am absolutely destroying the 2 guys in front of me, I think I am doing pretty well, and I am, well, relatively, except for this blue and gold thing that passes me to my inside left at about 90m into the race.

The rest, as they say, is history.  MJ runs 19.32, the fastest time ever by about three tenths of a second and .34 faster than even he has ever run before.  It is a massacre, and that ios putting it mildly.  I hold on for 3rd in 19.80, Frankie runs what is still the #3 time ever - at 19.68 for silver.

So what was I thinking during that race?  Well, I already told u how happy I was with my race, until MJ came up and passed me (and everyone else) in a blur, but right at that point, when reality hit me at 100m into it, with MJ disappearing to my left and the crowd so loud it hurt, I thought:

"THAT PSYCHIC B&*#H WAS SOOOO WRONG!  DAMN!"

MORAL: I really don't believe in psychics now!

P.S. If you'd like to know how that race felt, just think of if you've ever been in a car on the freeway with the accelerator pressed to the floor - and had a faster car pass you anyway. WOOSH!  There is nothing you can do about it - but watch them disappear ahead of you.  ALL OUT is ALL OUT.  There is NO MORE!

MARCH 2005

"NBA DREAMS"

I am a diehard Los Angeles Lakers fan, and before they ruined the team by trading Shaq and everyone else that mattered, I had season seats. In fact, a lot of you wrote in to say you had seen me on Lakers' broadcasts because my seats are 4 rows back from the floor, right by the home dressing room entrance, so the camera is on that side a lot during half time, etc.

The day before I was supposed to have my big meeting in 1998 with adidas to figure out whether to sign with them or not, I had this dream that I was on the floor with the Lakers, playing guard for them...not doing a whole lot on the floor - just not embarrassing myself, I guess.  Kobe was big a part of the dream, mainly because he was the other guard on the floor with me.  Anyhow I didn't think too much of it...I figured I was at so many games, so often, it was only logical for me to start to have NBA dreams.

I woke up the next day ready for the adidas meeting and it went well, and I had forgotten about the dream until - in walks KOBE, towards the end of the meeting - it was the first time I had met him, but adidas was eager to sign me and they figured his star power would help their cause....they, of course had no idea I was a Lakers fan and all the stuff that I had dreamed. I saw it as a sign.  He and I had a great conversation about sports, role models, adidas and why adidas would be the place for me vs. NIKE or somewhere else that had everyone signed already.

The adidas deal was done later that week, and though my personal opinion of Kobe has changed much since that day in 1998 - based largely on the whole Colorado debacle and many of the subsequent revelations and actions of his, I am grateful to this day for the conversation we had about adidas, and still think it's quite interesting how that 24-hour period unfolded.

MORAL:  Leave (ugly) hotel employees alone, it will ruin your reputation and cost u millions - and don't trade the most dominant player in the game to MIAMI because it may cause your team to miss the playoffs the next year!

Also: Beware of so called "good guys"!  I remember the stories of how Kobe never hung out with his teammates on the road!

FEBRUARY 2005

"TERRA FIRMA"

Sometimes VIP treatment isn't always better.  In order to get us to the Martinique meeting ahead of anyone else, a private flight was scheduled into Martinique, rather than rely on waiting for an airline connection.  The only problem was that the Piper prop plane we were to ride in was at least 30 years old. It looked beat up - and badly. Oh, and did I mention that the pilot was crossed-eyed and spoke no English?  Well, it's the truth. 

After many "Aaliyah" discussions, we decided that our manager and the bags could not go on the same trip, for weight's sake, and myself, Maurice Greene, Larry Wade and our manager piled into the plane.  I rode shotgun, or copilot in this case, which everyone expected since I was always the flight enthusiast.

It was rough going.  If the plane looked bad, well, it sounded worse.  Not a whole lot of comfort on board, just prayers.  Surprisingly enough, the plane flew quite well and our pilot appeared to be quite skilled.  I summoned up enough French once we were airborne to inform the pilot that I was training to get my pilot's licence.  Well I was....in a couple months, anyway.  What difference did it make?  I knew enough! Didn't I?

Now, our esteemed pilot gives me the controls, but none of my "passengers" in the back notice...probably because some of their backs are to me. 

Then I hear Emanuel, our manager, say to Mo,

"Uh, Mr. Greene, why is Ato flying the plane?"

"No he ain't," replies Mo.

"OK...see for yourself"

At this point I start to make the plane go up and down and side to side a little bit, just so Mo can see I am in fact in control.

Funny thing - none of them are amused at this.

Emanuel in particular is not happy at all, and I hear him muttering stuff about killing the cross-eyed pilot and suing the company - WHEN WE LAND!

Maurice takes a totally different approach - that of cheeerleader and supporter

"Ay dog, I got your back man - I know u got this!"

So since this is not going to be any fun to rile Mo, I turn my attention to Emanuel.  Larry is filming with his video - camera at this point.

"Hey Emanuel, how does it feel to have your life in my hands?"

He is still not amused.

Well just before we land the pilot takes over and we land with no incident, and then a photo is taken with Emanuel just outside the plane kneeling ala the POPE kissing the ground....we are still trying to find it, because it is priceless.

MORAL: When someone has your life in their hands, better to support them than cuss!

(No more flying or driving stories next month, I promise)

JANUARY 2005

"Be nice to Strangers!"

It was 1997, and Maurice Greene and I were just coming into our own as sprinters. We had just won our world titles in Athens - he in the 100m and I in the 200m.

Well, we were staying at the Loews Monte Carlo Hotel, one of my favorite hotels.  They've changed the name since then.  Anyhow, we were just beginning to deal with our little bit of fame, and not quite used to people staring or being in our business, and in Europe that happens a lot.

Anyhow this one guy in particular anytime we saw him always seemed to stare just way too long, to the point where we would get uncomfortable.  Days passed and he continued to do it every time we saw him.  If I think back , we had probably contemplated saying something.  In Europe, as a young black man, I remember always looking out for racism or people acting badly towards you, which I have to say in a decade of being there every summer was rare, but we did have the occasional moment where the dog in the restaurant (yes, Europeans sit their dogs at the table in many countries) would look at us as though we didn't belong (that's another true story I guess to come).

So on the day in question, we see the same guy as we are walking outside from the lobby to the place where you'd pull up to enter the hotel.  He's staring with that blank expression again.  Ok, I am going to say something to him.  Before I can, he says, in the heaviest Italian accent

"Ah, Ato Boldon, ay, Moore-eecee Greeen-eh!"

Ohhhhh-k - so he's a fan. Cool. The man embraces us like we are his long lost children, so that was kind of funny.  So we then walk out to the most gorgeous Lamborghini Diablo.   Monte Carlo has the best cars in the world in the summer, because the rich and famous from all over the world come there with their many expensive toys.   Most of u may know what that is.  Some may not. 

This is a Lamborghini Diablo.

So of course we are drooling over this car.  The Italian man says " "Ah, you like, eh? Please, you can drive if you want.

Does he know who he's talking to?  He gives Maurice the keys.  Who promptly hands them to me. He knows he wouldn't have been able to get that car out of the parking lot (LOL).

Not bad for two 23 years olds from Kansas and Trinidad.  Playing in his CD player?  James Brown - "The Big Payback" - it was like a scene from a movie.  We were grinning like school-kids as I took it out of the parking lot and out to the street.  That man had no clue what he had given us permission to do.  The car was such a monster I could not get it out of first gear before I had to slow down for traffic.  We didn't care....the engine roar and the people staring weren't a problem now!

You know sprinters are show-offs, so it's not news!

Meanwhile back at the hotel, the man was waiting on his car.  Oops.

 We brought it back in one piece in about a half- hour.  To him it might have seemed a lifetime, especially after our esteemed manager came outside and discovered what he had done, and then he really got worried when he saw the reaction of our manager.

I never forgot that day, and that James Brown song still makes me think of the generous Italian guy that day in 97 with his  Diablo SV.

MORAL: Make sure you know if someone wants to let you drive their quarter-million dollar car BEFORE you try to be rude to them!