I remember one time I stubbed my toe on a bar stool (in my house), my knee jerk response was to punch said bar stool with my fist.
My friend who witnessed this sequence of events was like: “That’s right Grrr!, you show that bar stool who’s boss!” Which made me laugh at my own silliness.
Not often but yes I have destroyed things in a fit of rage. What sets me off is when I am trying to fix something very intricate and I either lack the proper tool or the nimbleness. My only hope is to destroy it beyond any hope of repair so I can then move on to something where I can actually be constructive. It has been so long I can’t even think of examples but I know I have done it.
I was trying to make a gingerbread house when I was a kid, and the frosting/glue wasn’t holding the pieces together… so I did what any sane person would do and angrily threw the whole pathetic structure against the wall
Yes, I have. In younger days, mostly. Now I am better at controlling my temper.
Nice user name/post combo, by the way.
No. I’ve broken things accidentally, but I’ve never done it deliberately. If seems counterproductive.
Pete Townshend was playing a pricey Rickenbacker guitar at a London club with a low ceiling. At the end of the song, he jumped up. The headstock of the guitar hit the ceiling and was snapped off. The crowd of Who mod fanboys loved it, and Pete was pissed, so he smashed the guitar to make it look like the first break was on purpose. He built a great shtick out of that.
Counterproductive, but momentarily very satisfying. You just have to think more short term.
When inanimate objects don’t cooperate, sometimes they need to be taught a lesson.
My grandpa used to bring hot coffee with him when he drove. It never failed – the coffee would spill or burn his tongue and he would toss the coffee, cup and all, out the driver’s side window over the car and into the ditch.
a Droid Incredible met an untimely, quick end a few years back.
A few times; mostly my own property rather than something like a chair or candy machine somewhere else. The extreme case was an old PC that I hated and that hated me. When it was replaced I made it go away with the help of a load of canister in a 3lb field piece. Range about 20 feet. It was glorious.
When I was a kid instead of lashing out at an object I was displeased with my mom would have me drive nails into a piece of firewood. You drive a few with a hammer and suddenly all your aggression is gone. What I realized later was I’d also become very good with a hammer due to all that ‘practice’. For Cub Scouts it was a requirement and all my friends were sending nails zinging off into space, bending them over, etc. Two strokes and mine was driven flush. Later I’d build forts, treehouses, etc. always wielding that hammer effectively. Then with helping grandparents, volunteering for Habitat For Humanity to do framing, rafters, siding and helping friends build houses I’d always think back to how it was Mom channeling my anger that gave me what turned into quite a useful skill. Thanks, Mom.
Many, many times.
I had this phone handset (like you know, a land line) that drove me nuts with its unreliability. It conked out on me one too many times and I threw it at the wall. Didn’t hurt the phone but I hurt the wall, and the gouge I left is right next to the place where I eat every day.
I don’t care, man. Phone was whack!
This summer, I was painting the deck out at the cottage and brought along my cheap pressure washer that I rarely use. When I first hooked it up, water gushed out the bottom of the machine instead of out the hose.
I was short on tools and had to drive to the next town to get a screwdriver that would actually reach into the holes so I could open it up and investigate. Turned out to be a simple problem; a check valve that controlled the addition of detergent into the stream of water had failed.
Then followed a long unproductive phone conversation with the manufacturer in which it was determined that pressure washer manufacturers are in the business of selling whole pressure washers–not replacement parts. After some crying and whining, the company’s representative gave me the number of a business in Montreal. I called and chose not to leave a message when their machine answered in French.
The redneck solution was to drive to the next town again and purchase a bolt that stopped the leak at the cost of disabling the detergent part of the washer.
I mopped detergent over the deck manually and fired up the washer. Its wand promptly exploded.
This is the part of the story where I calmly unthreaded the wand, raised it over my head like an axe and smashed it into atoms. Then I gathered the atoms and split them. Why? it was simply necessary! Life hands me problems? I’m a problem solver. That’s what I do and I’ll do it all day but I can only do it calmly and rationally. Emotion just gets in the way. Passion, once aroused, must be eliminated and only cathartic release will do so.
Having addressed the issue in an emotionally honest way and brimming with equanimity, I had no difficulty embarking on a 1.5 hour round trip back to the city to drop forty fucking dollars on another lump of plastic to replace the deceased lump and continue with my task.
The proof that I had done the right thing came almost immediately when I reassembled the machine, turned it on and nothing happened. No rage, no violence. Troubleshooting was a pleasure. The problem was quickly identified: a small turd of plastic from the quick connect hose thing had blown back into the hose and wedged itself in. The first attempts to remove it failed but no matter. I knew persistence would pay off and it did. The deck was soon clean, free of loose paint and ready for a new coat.
I’m certain that if I hadn’t smashed that wand the job would never have been done.
That’s a common post-event rationalization for such action, but for most folks who indulge in such behavior (myself included), that’s all it is. Rage and frustration will often trigger thoughtless violence.
I was in construction, so it was a common occurrence. The funniest incidence was when my boss’s wife pulled up to let him off for work. He’d brought his bicycle, and started struggling to get it out of the trunk of his Trans-Am, where it remained stubbornly stuck. This guy was known for his towering rages, and the more frustrated he got, the more violently he tried to free the bike. Finally, with one last Herculean jerk, the bike came out, and he fell over backwards, bruising his pride. He jumped to his feet, grabbed the bike, and hurled it at the metal elephant hut nearby. It promptly rebounded and knocked him down again. The guy was apoplectic for an hour afterward, not helped by our unrestrained laughter.
\In Bruges
Not in an extremely long time. I’m convinced that this is why I can fix things nobody else can. Yes, it took me 3 hours to get that bolt started using only the tip of the longest finger on my left hand.
Sometimes I have to put it away, and come back another day, cause getting pissed off NEVER helps fix it.
(bolding mine)
In the British sense or the American sense?