Since the separation, I've had my share of rage-filled moments, but with the exception of almost Fight Clubbing Omar one night, I'd yet to act on my anger.
Until this afternoon.
I was walking across the Vons parking lot when this big, gray van roared past me, literally inches from my face, so close I could read the anti-abortion stickers he had plastered all over his interior through the tinted window. As he passed by, I gave his back door a big ol' smack.
Yeah, I know. Stupid. It was just a knee-jerk reaction.
By the time I got to my Subaru, I had the driver, a 280-pound, 50-year-old blue collar worker, running towards me yelling, "YOU DON'T FUCKING HIT PEOPLE'S CARS! FUCKER!"
Despite this occasional car smacking habit, I'm actually really conflict averse. There have been many, many times in my life that I've backed away from fights (and I'm not just talking fist fights with strangers) and, frankly, regretted it. I don't back down because I know fights are silly. I back down because I don't like to fight. Some might even say I'm a "pussy."
I have no idea why, but this time, I wasn't scared. I was actually kind of excited, like the first time I learned J.J. Abrams was re-imagining Star Trek. I hopped out of my car and yelled back, "THEN YOU SHOULD LEARN HOW TO GIVE RIGHT OF WAY TO PEDESTRIANS."
It didn't feel right, so after a beat, I added, "YOU JERK!"
Yeah, that felt good.
He retorted, "YOU DON'T FUCKING HIT PEOPLE'S CARS! FUCKER!"
I'm new to this male aggression thing, so I was a little taken aback by the lack of variation on the theme. In the movies, those guys seem more clever. I opted to add a little flair.
"THIS IN NOT THE AUTOBAHN!" I bellowed. Now our faces were inches apart. He looked confused for a second. I don't think he knew what the Autobahn was. It occurred to me that it would be really funny if I just suddenly kissed him, but that didn't seem appropriate.
"YOU DON'T FUCKING HIT PEOPLE'S CARS! FUCKER!"
"YEAH, I HEARD YOU THE FIRST TWO TIMES!"
We went back and forth like this for a while. A crowed gathered. Then I walked over to his van and pointed out that I'd caused no damage. "SO MAYBE YOU'RE OVERREACTING!"
Again, it didn't feel right, so I added, "IDIOT!"
Apparently, the sprint across the parking lot and our heated trot back to his van was somewhat taxing, so a lack of breath forced him to shorten his standard response to "FUCK YOU!"
At this point, it became obvious that he wasn't going to hit me unless I hit him first, which I wasn't going to do because then he could sue me and I've had enough of lawyers for one year. (No offense, Tom.) And, the more I thought about it, although I was in far better shape than this guy, he'd still probably wipe the asphalt with my face. My pretty, pretty face.
This wasn't as fun as I thought it would be. I didn't want to fist fight, but why else were we yelling at each other? It's not like either of us was going to see the light. It felt nothing like the manly, Swayzesque explosion of bravado and testosterone I was hoping for. It was just two people with nothing in common caught in a cycle of frustration and pain. Suddenly, I felt very much like I was married to this sweating, angry, old, fat man.
I needed to break the chain. I stopped yelling and said, "I'm tired of this now. I'm going to go get my daughter from school," and walked away.
"FUCK YOU!" he wheezed, "AND FUCK YOUR DAUGHTER!"
I did actually take pause here. "Why now?" I thought. Why did he have to wait until I walked away to come up with something that might actually compel me to take a swing?
But it was too late. Our relationship was over. Besides, I truly did need to pick up my daughter and a face-gravel-removal trip to the emergency room would take away from quality time with her.
"Have a nice day," I said back, "I bet you have lots of friends and a lot of people like you."
"I HOPE YOU DIE!" he screamed, "AND YOUR DAUGHTER TOO!"
He hopped in his van and slammed it in reverse. After five feet, he remembered that he had to go to the grocery store, so he pulled back into his spot. He huffed into Von's, hurt, angry and alone, ignoring the families and kids who had stopped to watch us.
I was glad I hadn't dropped any f-bombs myself.
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7 comments:
Denis,
I want to cry for your situation. Although not separated, I have emotional problems every day ... most days it is an act of God for me not to kill myself. Although I had this argument the other day but with another soccer mom over whether my son was being abused on the field by the coach (I saw no abuse, she wanted CPS out there now), I felt less than satisfied about the ending much the same as you did. I wanted to beat the C-R-A-P out of her for trying to tell me I was spineless for not doing anything about the abuse I failed to see as abuse (Of course she was having this conversation with me instead of the coach whom she had the problem with in the first place.). At that moment I looked down at my daughter who was sitting in my lap, and thought is this how I want her to handle her fights? Is this how I want her to see her mother, in a brawl with a woman I don't even know the name of? No, I didn't. You are a better man, Denis Faye. Your daughter wasn't there to see her daddy, but she is proud of you nevertheless.
Denis - Good on you.
That was full of awesome. Wish I could have seen it.
Anger-
though entirely warranted and prompted in this situation-
's one of the oddest emotions to process afterwards. Possibly just for those of us who aren't constantly angry without reason.
But I think that's the textbook way to deal with a verbal fight, if it's consolation.
It's only acceptable to initiate upping the fight to a physical level if some self-loathing or stupidity makes you entirely happy with the possible outcome of scars and breaks and blood (and can no longer feel like you keep the upper hand by expression via words);
so I'd expect that sort of fight to go: anger-based Tourette's until stand-off, whereupon the one determined to have the last word says his bravest stuff when he's walking away and confident he won't be hit.
In short-
you won.
Odd that you have to think about lawsuits and things like guns much moreso than over here, though.
That guy sounds like a dumbass! He is probably just mad that by hitting his van, you have now lowered the value of the van to $150. You are the bigger man for not punching him in the face!
God, people are such morons. And YES you DO hit other people's cars when they almost hit YOU!
Attractive young women and middle-aged guys are given entirely different rule books when it comes to car-punching.
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