And you call yourself Inigo Montoya. For shame!
(Now why the hell is “Lemon Chiffron” an available color?!)
Holy crap, I thought I was the only one who did stuff like that! It’s almost a reflex sometimes. :rolleyes: I’m a chick, so luckily I’m not as likely to get my ass beat…my mouth definitely gets me in trouble, though.
(hey, I was in this gutter first!)
I was raised in Los Angeles, where the rule is:
There is absolutely nothing that anybody can **say ** that is worth getting killed over.
Sadly, there’s always a distinct possibility that getting into it with a stranger on the street is going to lead to gunplay. It’s just never worth it.
Which isn’t to say that ignoring shit-disturbers can at times be embarassing, humiliating and emasculating. It’s truly a no-win situation.
I had a very similar experience (without the racial aspect) a few years ago. I’ve probably shared it before on this board, but it’ particularly appropriate here.
I was at a “cityfest” type of concert with my girlfriend, and we got there early, since the headliner was Willie Nelson, and we’re in the Deep South. In other words, most everyone from the state of Alabama and eastern Mississippi were there. The crowd slowly developed around us until eventually, there was almost no room to move. There was the customary level of elbows, excuse me’s, nudges, and requests for other people to move slightly to one side or the other, until everything had reached a certain equilibrium. A lot of people had brought camp chairs (bad idea for a concert, IMO,) and most of the people in front of us stayed comfortably settled even after Willie took the stage.
We had settled on the ground, sitting Indian-style, with a clear line of sight to the stage. One couple, however, stood up, blocking our view. Eh, no biggie. We sat for a while, then as everyone else seemed to be standing up, we did as well.
Now, I’m over six feet tall. I could see over the guy and his wife/girlfriend/whatever. My girlfriend, however, is quite short, and couldn’t see a damned thing.
I reached up and tapped the guy on the shoulder. He turned around.
“Hey man, I was wondering if you guys could maybe scoot just like 2 inches over…”
“NO! FUCK YOU! I"M NOT MOVING ONE INCH! FUCK YOU!”
He turned back around, leaving me in stunned silence. Then, as he had apparently not made his point with sufficient clarity, he turned back around and began loudly berating me again.
“FUCK YOU! YOU WANT TO FIGHT ABOUT IT?!” At this point, he reached out and began poking me repeatedly in the chest, punctuating his drunken tirade with sharp jabs.
I have been in quite a few fights, and I know lots of dirty tricks. I feel I would have been entirely justified at that point in ending the rapidly escalating encounter in one of several ways. Hey, he was the one who made it physical. I thought about giving him a short jab to the throat. I thought about catching his offending finger and yanking it down, snapping it at the knuckle. In any case, a familiar red haze was descending over my vision, and I strongly suspected violence was incipient.
During this time, his girlfriend/wife hung back with an expression on her face that plainly said she thought he was justified. I silently included her in my contingency plan, since it was possible that she’d try to pitch in on her guy’s side if it came to fisticuffs.
Absolutely infuriated, I took a step toward him, and suddenly realized that there were people everywhere. If we fought, I could virtually guarantee a win, but I doubted that a bystander wouldn’t be involved.
I stepped back. He smirked and turned his back on me, sensing he’d won. They never moved over, and my girlfriend spent the entire show staring at their backs, as there was no place to move.
I stood there the rest of the show, trembling and white-knuckled, wanting with all my soul to wade into him and tie him in knots. It completely ruined the concert.
Later on, as Willie was winding up his encore (approximately the fifty seventh chorus of “Whiskey River”), the guy glanced back at me. I grinned back and shouted over the music, “Looks like the show’s juuuuust about finished. Whaddya think about that?”
He disappeared very shortly after that. No, I didn’t try to find him. I’m not that petty.
I was still enraged as we were gathering up our stuff, however. My girlfriend was silent. She was pissed as well, since the encounter had ruined the show for her too.
As we were leaving, however, a woman who’d been sitting with her son right next to the asshole couple came up to me.
“Thank you for not fighting that guy. He deserved to have his butt kicked, but my son was sitting right next to him, and he just recently had brain surgery, and I’m afraid he might have been caught in the crossfire.”
:eek: Jesus, I’m glad I controlled my murderous instincts in that case.