I feel that I need to clarify a couple of points.
Firstly, I am well mannered and if spoken to politely will respond equally politely, a person who is nice to me deserves a nice response even if I disagree with them. On the occasion in question, the shop girl wanted to see my face for the security camera. I explained politely that I had a flip front helmet, which you would have thought was obvious because... she could see my face. It was at this point that she said "Oh yeah, I had not noticed!"
The reason I do not like taking my helmet off is because first of all it is really very expensive and a gift from the wife. It fits perfectly on my noggin and that seems like a perfectly safe place to store it while filling my fuel tank. Placing it on my mirror does not seem like a very safe thing to do with my beautiful Shoei lid and I am not putting it on the pump because that is flimsy curving plastic. The floor infront of the pump was covered in sand that had been dumped on spilled diesel. Normally I would not use a pump that was in this condition, but I was in a hurry and there were no other pumps available.
I took the money from my purse and walked in to pay. I did not require a receipt and I had the right money in my gloved hand (gloves that are tucked into the sleeves of my jacket and support my damaged wrist), along with my bike key. I will point out that they required my face for the camera once I had handed over the money. So at this time I had not only ended our transaction, but had done so politely and with in the parameters of decency.
The petrol station has cameras on the forecourt and they can not only see me, but they can see my number plate. Should I decide that I wish to fill my bike and not pay, they have me on tape and my bike registration which the Police can use to locate my address. I am a law abiding citizen after all.
There is one aspect though that is personal to me and that is taking my helmet off is difficult for me. I have a spine and shoulder injury that makes putting my right arm up high painful. My leather jacket is very special, it is an old one now and before I got it, it belonged to my Father in Law, who was himself an old school biker and also a Paramedic with the NHS before his death. He rode to work every day on various machines ranging from 125cc Hondas to 750cc Yamahas and because of his job, he always insisted on good quality riding kit. He regularly scraped up the bits of people that came off them when they crashed in inferior kit. The jackets collar is a snug fit around my neck and sits nicely with the helmet strap. I also wear a tubular neck gaiter that tucks into my jacket and up inside my helmet. If I take my helmet off, I need to replace the neck gaiter to cover up my long black hair, which means taking off my jacket. The jacket is heavy, armoured and stiff and because of my spine injury I find it hard work to get on and off at times.
The big thing is that disabilities that are nearly invisible get ignored. If the girl behind the counter was to ask me why I walk with a slight limp, carry my arm at an odd angle and then struggle to hold open a heavy petrol station door, while holding all of my belongings in my good hand, I could explain it to her. All the while the people in the queue behind me can stare hatefully at the back of my head and into my long lustrous black hair as I slowly and painfully get dressed again.
It is obvious when I walk that some days I am less able than others, yet I manage to ride my bike when I can. Assuming that every person in the store is a criminal is sadly one of modern life's issues, but asking for my picture after I have paid in full is down right odd. We are becoming a Police state.
Thankfully my usual garage is open again now after a refurbishment of the pumps and storage tanks. A garage that has staff who greet me with a smile, wait patiently for me to do what I have to do to get into the shop and then wish me a happy ride as I leave.
As to the question as to whether I am one of those nice kinds of bikers or not, I shall leave you to decide for yourselves.
Yes, that is a picture of a pointy on my sweatshirt.
