When you stroll through Market Square, you’re surrounded by such charm. And motorcycles.

The riders don’t just park, shop and drive away like normal people. They rev up. Loudly. Then they rev up again. Loudly.

Why can’t they just buy a sweater at Serendipity or grab a birthday card at Warner’s and get the heck home?

Not that I’m a role model (although, come to think of it, a world filled with people like me wouldn’t be half bad), but I choose to have fun by, say, reading junk mail or using hotel bathrooms. I don’t sputter around with an eardrum-splitting vehicle that lets me pretend I’m a free-spirit Easy Rider when I’m really a drone like everyone else.

There are two kinds of Americans: the Problems and the Solutions. The Solutions volunteer at homeless shelters, vote intelligently in elections and enjoy one of the thousands of quiet recreational activities favored by John Muir. The Problems are [guess who?].

Years ago, I interviewed the chief executive of a large motorcycle company. The topic wasn’t the inherent obnoxiousness of his products, but I couldn’t help myself. I asked, “Why do so many motorcyclists rev their engines repeatedly? Don’t they want to get going rather than sit on their bikes twisting their wrists and going deaf?”

He claimed I didn’t understand, that I wasn’t part of the “brotherhood.”

I’m not part of the brotherhood. I wouldn’t want to join any club that would have me as a member. And I wouldn’t want to join any club that wouldn’t have me as a member.

I just want to join a club that doesn’t ride motorcycles.

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Morey Stettner writes The Young Curmudgeon blog for portsmouthnh.com. He’s the author of five books including SKILLS FOR NEW MANAGERS (McGraw-Hill) and THE ART OF WINNING CONVERSATION (Prentice Hall) and the editor of the popular newsletter Managing People at Work (www.managingpeopleatwork.com).