I had the joy of sitting at the local Triumph/Ducati dealer for about half an hour today. I was astounded by the variety of biker stereotypes that came in while I was there.
Don't get me wrong, there were guys on adventure bikes that actually had mud on them (!), and guys coming in who wore more than tank tops when they rode...but the fun thing was the constant flow of douchebaggery that pervaded the Ducati section of the dealership.
Douchebag #1 (DB1) walks in, asks what the best Ducati is, and immediately walks out upon gawking a the price tag a second.
DB#2 walks in and explains how he wants a "kickass ride to class and to his bro's flat." He lives on campus at UT Chattanooga, in which case I'd say any vehicle at all is not necessary as the campus is VERY small. He makes some snarly faces at the salesman who suggests that he probably doesn't want a Panigale for 10 mph put-putting around campus, because he says, "Well, I'm the only one who knows what I need and what I like," and promptly decides he likes the Monster 1200 because, "that exhaust looks like a snake." The salesman asks for a copy of his license so he can test ride it...and immediately hands it back because there's no class M endorsement. DB#2 walks out snarling under his breath.
DB#3 walks in wearing an untucked, unironed white collared shirt, unbuttoned at the top button and tie hanging loosely......and SHORTS. Baggy blue shorts. Not dress shorts--but that plaid stuff the kids wear nowadays. Doesn't take his sunglasses off despite the poor lighting. DB#3 sits on a Monster 821, cranks the thing (holy shit, he knows how!), then promptly revs it really quickly to redline to the ear-shattering dismay of everyone in that cramped corner of the store. When the salesman tells him to get the hell out, he's shaking.
DB#4 walks in and wants to look around a while. He then buys a Ducati t-shirt. DB#4 tells the salesman he misses his Ducati. Salesman asks what he used to ride. He says, "Oh, it was one of their sportbikes."
DB#5 has the tattoos all over, yellow hair, tank top, tackle-box worth of piercings on the face, looks like Fred Durst turned up to 11, and conveniently has a guy that looks just like him except about 100 lbs heavier that follows him around--I guess that guy could only be described as "his boy," because when the salesman that I guess drew the last straw and had to go talk to him went to see what he was looking for, he replied, "I was just looking around for a new vehicle and my boy here suggested I look around at some bikes too." Despite telling the salesman in his next sentence that he didn't know much about bikes, he apparently forgot that fact in his next statement of wisdom, which was, when the salesman pointed to me and said, "That gentleman bought a Street Triple R and loves it. That 675 triple is one of the sweetest engines out there right now," DB#5 replied with, "Oh, no, Triumphs suck."
I hope to hell the dealerships get paid well--if all these *******s came in half an hour, it must be a steady trickle of idiocy all day in there.