I have two big grudges, and I think the reason they still both resonate with me is because both situations were so inexplicable.
The first is against the guy who incited another guy to split my lip with a bottle. I recounted that in a recent Pit thread, don’t want to go over it again, and I actually have found that it’s lessened a bit since I shared it. So I’ll share this, and perhaps it’ll help as well.
I was in my last year of college, hanging out with two of my closest friends, and a new guy. Now, before you get halfway through this, you’re probably going to be saying, “And you stayed friends with these people?” I’ll state upfront that my friends did choose me over the new guy, after what happened. They completely excommunicated him. And yet that’s still not enough for me.
So what happened? Well, I arrived, was introduced to the new guy, we all smoked up, and then Clint was called to the hall phone. (I wonder how different my life would be if cell phones had been around in my teens and more prevalent in my early twenties.) The new guy, whose name I don’t recall so I’ll call him Dick, was chanting along with a punk tape he’d put in (we were big Led heads and Floydians, but had these crazy ideas about being open to new things). He also had a lot to say about racism. In fact, it was pretty much his only topic of conversation. He was African-American, you see, and therefore every white person was out to get him. Except he didn’t seem to mind going to school with them or hanging out with them or sharing their weed.
Dick also started subtly baiting me, asking what I liked to listen to. “This, that, the other…Beethoven…” “Ew, opera!” “No, Beethoven only wrote one opera.” “Ew, opera!” I know it doesn’t sound like much, but there was a definite aura of menace. Also, to put this in some context, this was after the LAPD trial, but before OJ. So there was more tension in the US than there is now. Still, jeez.
At some point, Kevin, who was a sweetheart but not the sharpest tool in the shed, also left the room for a reason I don’t recall. He told me afterwards that it simply never crossed his mind that I shouldn’t have been left alone with Dick. But he was so mellow, he made Tommy Chong look uptight, so I can understand why he wouldn’t pick up on the signals I was catching. And I thought for sure that either he or Clint would be back any second.
Long story short, Kevin came back to find Dick and I wrestling for possession of one of Clint’s Zep tapes (I hadn’t wanted to hear the punk tape a second time). I’m here to tell you, that mofo was strong. Skinny, but very very wiry, and he fought dirty. He kept bending his fingers around the cassette, so I couldn’t get a grip on it, like a two-year-old. Well, not even Kevin could let that slide, so he pulled us apart, put the Zep tape in, and made a comment to the effect of “Don’t be like that…She’s good people…”
Well, I’ve blocked out exactly what Dick’s accusations were, but the whole thing culminated in my getting in Dick’s face, saying that I was not a racist, then screaming in his ear that I was not a racist, then kneeling on his legs, still screaming that I was not a racist, while he turned his face away and made “blah blah blah” motions with his mouth. At which point I lunged away and stormed past an utterly stunned Kevin out into the hall. Clint was still on the phone, and when I informed him that it was Dick or me, he went back into the room and told Dick he had to leave.
Dick left without protest, thank Og, and then Kevin and I explained what had happened, which left Clint drop-jawed. I stayed a bit longer, then left. Next day, I’m told, Dick showed up again, and Clint told him he was no longer welcome under any circumstances. Dick’s reply: “You racist mutha…” To which Pete, who had been filled in on this, responded, “That’s right; we’re all racist mutha…s! So why do you want to hang out with us?” Good old Pete. Why couldn’t he have been there that night?
It really didn’t take as long as it probably sounds. Twenty minutes, maybe. But how long does it take someone who’s really skilled at pushing buttons? The other stuff, about my musical preferences, was probably something he pulled on everyone, but the racism accusations are the real reason I hold such a grudge.
Race issues are very, very important to me. I don’t claim to take the center square, and in fact, I have done and said some things that I’m not proud of. But calling me racist half an hour after he’d met me – WTF? How was I racist? Did I refuse to sit next to him? No. Did I clutch my purse, or in this case, backpack, the instant I saw him? No. Did I pull my hand away if we reached for the ashtray at the same time? No. And for crying out loud, Scott was black, Baron was black, and Eli was black. But Scott and Baron weren’t there that night either, and Eli lived off campus.
So getting back to the post I quoted, this whole incident was a misunderstanding. And I still can’t understand why. Why hang out with people in a demographic you hate, just to make them hate you? Why pick a fight, with a girl no less, just for the sake of it? I don’t know; I only know that he succeeded in his goal, and that’s the other reason it resonates with me: because I let him. Nothing like that has happened since, though. I think it comes down to “Mutha… crazy.”
