You wonder why I'm beating the drum for the D.C. Voting Rights Amendment? This little urban drama ought to answer that once and for all.

The stars are Charlotte Yasnick of Northwest and a male (we can't call him a gentleman) who was piloting a Harley-Davidson motorcycle south on 16th Street the other day.

Not every Harley is as lovingly cared for as cycling enthusiasts would have you believe. Some of these big bikes develop serious illnesses in their engines and piston rings. The symptoms are unmistakable: endless clouds of acrid, gray smoke, which seem to get more endless, acrid and gray at stoplights.

Charlotte was crossing 16th at P Street, and instead of remaining in the crosswalk, she decided to cut behind the Harley, whose driver was waiting for the light to change.

Who knows why he did it? Maybe he woke up on the wrong side of bed. Maybe he has the sense of humor of a 6-year-old. In any case, the Harley jockey picked the exact moment Charlotte was behind his exhaust pipes to give out with a gigantic vroooooom-vroooooom of the engine.

As it happened, Charlotte was wearing the $150 dress she had bought only the week before. Its color changed immediately from pink to pink-with-a-gray-tinge. "Shall we say I was ticked off?" Charlotte says.

Charlotte started to give the Harley Hotshot a piece of her mind. He listened for a few seconds, or until the light turned green. Then, as he roared off, he shouted:

"Tell it to your congressman, lady!"

"I would," shouted Charlotte at his disappearing back, "if I had one!"