I’m with my friends in DTLA and we’re on our way to the beach. Fun! We’d been at the bus stop maybe one minute when a nearly full Gatorade bottle comes flying at us from across the street. It doesn’t hit us, but it rolls into the street by our feet. We look up, see a man staring at us, and move a little ways away. Slightly disconcerting, right?

It gets better.

Another minute later, the man comes running across the street, picks up the now nearly empty bottle and fucking throws the remnants of Gatorade at us. It hit me full on the legs and splashed onto my friends. After a second of shocked silence, one of my friends and I roar out “what the fuck, you asshole?!?!” He muttered something at us that I didn’t hear and probably don’t want to hear, then ran back across the street like the fucking cowardly rat that he was.

To add to the “what the fuck” of the moment: Immediately after this happened, a lady ran up with a disposable camera and took a fucking picture of us, standing there dripping with Gatorade and probably looking really angry and confused.

I mean, it could’ve been worse. At least it was just Gatorade (I could smell the sugar). At least he didn’t try to attack us with anything worse than a drink. But...seriously?! Do I really have to be saying “at least he didn’t hurt me,” when this nameless asshole actually physically threw something at me and my friends when we weren’t doing anything to him aside from existing? We were just standing on the street! We were talking amongst ourselves! My friend was instagramming something!

(We managed to wipe off most of the Gatorade, and our bus came a couple minutes later - a good thing too, since Asshole-dickwipe was crossing the street toward us AGAIN. We reported the incident to the cops, with a description of the man and a location and approximate time. Nothing else to be done, I suppose, except get to the beach and try to forget that shitty shitty thing. C’mon Friday, do better!)