Ahhh, drama. How I’ve missed you so.
Have I ever mentioned that I tend to find myself in the dead, unyielding center of drama? Being an ex-theater geek, this would seem like the perfect place for me.
In a word… Fsck no.
At least a few times a year, I end up in some situation, often through little fault of my own, where I have become the mediator, or at least, stuck in the middle. Part of it stems from my inability to stay the hell out of other people’s business, since I unfortunately already feel a part of it, especially if their business is being conducted right in front of me.
One week ago tonight was… well, one of those nights.
I fell asleep on the couch. One would think that this would not be the root cause of my involvement in the following story, but you’d be surprised. I woke up about midnight, later than I expected, and realized that my plan for the evening, which was to go to one of my favorite local bars, have a beer, and chat with friends, was going to take place several hours later than I anticipated.
As I’ve stated before, things rarely go according to plan.
In short, I overslept. My brain is on Tokyo time.
So I made my way to the Stonewall, also known in the colloquial as “the Wall”. A brief explanation of this building is necessary at this point, as will become clear later on. Although there are doors in the front of the building, the side which faces the street, the actual entrance to the bar is down an alley and leads into an outdoor “commons” area, fenced off to prevent underage drinkers from wandering in, and which includes picnic tables and standing room. To get inside the bar itself requires entering this commons, deftly navigating between the drunken idiots, dodging the potholes in the sidewalk, and trying not to stand, gawking and open-mouthed, at the usual gang of idiots who hang out here, and finally entering through the back door of the building. I can only imagine architects, designers, and others in similar fields cringing whenever they enter this building and try to make sense of the floorplan. I’ve been a regular there for a good year or two, and I gave up trying a while back.
I parked in a small parking lot about half a block away, and turned the corner into the alleyway next to the Wall and one of the more notable party-houses in Stillwater. As I did, I saw a couple talking near the break in the fence which gets you into the commons. As I closed the distance between us, I noticed that their form of “talking” meant that the guy had his hands around her throat, and not in a loving manner.
Bad idea, bastard.
You don’t harm a woman in front of me, as it rarely puts a smile on my face or improves my mood. Actually, quite the opposite, as it usually sets me off on a murderous rage. Whether she was “asking for it” or some other bullshit is beyond the point. Call it chivalry, call it “Knight in Shining Armor” mentality, or call it idiocy, it doesn’t matter. It’s just not something you do around me and expect to retain the current shape of your face.
Instinct kicked in and I ran to close the distance between us. As I approached, the girl looked at me, wide-eyed, and said “Help me!”
Oh shit.
Apparently a guy running up to them with a look of death and dismemberment diverted his drunken attention, and he failed to notice that his “girlfriend” was no longer in arms reach. A moment later, however, and a 6 foot 2 inch, 250 pound pissed off intervening asshole (A.K.A., me) was.
He looked at me, equally pissed off, and told me, in effect, to stay the hell out of his business.
I looked at him, with a smile growing across my face (and of course, bearing my teeth), and told him, in effect, “No.”
Fortunately, a drunken asshole at a bar who’s looking to start a fight is rarely looking to get his ass-whooped in the process. More often then not, they’re looking for “sport”, and I use that term loosely. However, I operate on a different principle. If your only remaining option is to fight, then this must entail removing your enemy’s ability to fight as quickly and efficiently as possible. As I don’t know what weapons or capabilities my enemy may have, I operate on the principle of “All’s fair in love and war,” and I have absolutely no qualms about fighting dirty and going straight for the groin. Additionally, I try to difuse a situation before it ever gets to that point, usually reverting to psychological attacks first. In one instance, a few years ago at a club, I was able to prevent a fight from occuring simply by looking the inebriated cowboy in the face and commenting on how his severed head on a pike would be a nice addition to my flower garden right next to the Hostas. He stared at me in utter wonderment for a moment, and then wandered off with a concerned look on his face in search of people who were slightly less strange. The fight was over and I had never thrown a punch, and the disaster was averted.
An attitude like that tends to make a drunken asshole think twice. They start a fight for the “sport”. If they assume that you’re not playing for the… ahem, fun of it all, and will instead fight to win, they’re going to go find someone slightly less psychotic to stomp them into the ground.
It’s all a matter of mind games, and I absolutely, positively, have no intent to follow through with such threats, but a good actor knows how to lead his audience on, even if he doesn’t believe it himself. Ultimately, I consider myself a pretty good actor. Apparently, I play the part of the psycho pretty well. This element of my personality will have to be explored another day, as a part of me is slightly concerned about it.
Back to our current asshole: Had his Blood Alcohol levels been within a range tolerable by normal humans, the current look on my face might have made him think twice.
At this point in time, my brain went into ludicrous speed.
To digress again, a little back history. When I’m in a physically dangerous situation, my mind tends to go overboard, and suddenly I’m like a wild animal, my mind aware of all surroundings and planning out various outcomes to a scenario in full, THX surround sound with 3-D glasses at Mach 3. When I’ve gone into this mode, which is rare, it’s difficult to surprise me. And Heaven help the poor bastard who does. The one time I was actually in Deep Ellum in Dallas, after dark, and not driving the hell away from it, I was like this for a good two hours straight. Almost needless to say, that was an interesting (and exhausting) evening.
This guy pushes me backwards, now in view of the people inside the fenced off “commons” area through the break in the fence, and tightens up to punch me in the face. Instantly I tighten up and prepare for the impact of his fist and a blast of momentary pain, a scenario in my mind which involves giving that pain right back a minimum of about 12 times.
My fists ball up and my stance momentarily strengthens as my feet slide into position to take the impact, when my now overloaded awareness hears “Oh shit!” coming from inside the commons area. Out of the corner of my eye, two of my friends are almost leaping over one of the picnic tables and running to my aid.
Apparently, my newfound friend heard and/or saw this as well, and his stance eased, as he realized he was no drunken match for 3 of us.
Long story short, he ended up backing down, and trying to talk to his girlfriend in the English vernacular known as “Drunkeneese”. We followed him for a few minutes, making sure things were under control, until we decided that if the girl wasn’t going to call the cops or get the hell out of the situation, that wasn’t our fault.
Later on, as I had finished my beer, said goodbye to my friends, and was preparing to leave, 4 very large individuals poured through the crowd in the commons area, exiting the bar and joining the others outside in the alley, forming into a large, undulating ellipse of assholes. I grabbed my trusty PDA/phone/electronic-penis-size-compensator, and hastily dialed 911. By the time the cops showed up, the situation had diffused on it’s own, and I left for greener and slightly less inebriated pastures, after talking to the local 5-0.
So, ultimately, an interesting evening to say the least, and one that has taught me a valuable lesson about myself.
It’s all a matter of self-control.
Of which, I feel, I don’t have enough of. I’ve wanted to start taking some martial arts, for various reasons. Since I think that I’m in good shape, assuming that “potato” is a good shape, the first is that I need regular exercise to help get myself more healthy. The second is that I need to learn more self-control. The third? Well, I have a great deal of respect for the elegance of the various forms of martial arts, and I would like to be able to do stuff like that. You had to know that the “cool” factor would come in somewhere, after all, the “Shiny” factor is what compelled me to buy my cell phone/PDA/geek-toy.
Until next time.
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