Friday... out with the "boyz".
It's pretty easy to lose sight of the possibility of "random chance" rising up to bite one in his/her own ass. If you know me personally, you might have heard a story about where else you can get bit when you least suspect it. I'm not going to get into that one on this forum- at least not today. But I will relate a little anecdote that illustrates my point.
Last night after I wrote my post I ventured once again out into the warm Friday night air to meet up with a few buddies at a friend's relatively new bar. I didn't go to my usual haunt because I was in the mood for something different, and so were my companions. So I get to this neighborhood joint and settle in with a stool right along the bar. I quickly fall into conversation with a recent acquaintance, and eventually I'm surrounded by other people I know. For a weekend night the place is relatively empty, and so it takes only minutes until I drop my customary alertness and settle in to a comfortable pace. It's as if I'm at a small private party where I've known all the attendees for years.
But the problem is that I am not in a private sanctuary, but rather in a public drinking establishment. It wasn't completely appropriate to drop my guard. This dive is in the center of a neighborhood that is steadily getting gentrified, but still has a gritty and violent edge that can pop up like a target in the "whack-a-mole" at Chuck E. Cheese. Compounding the problem is one of my friend's rather stubborn penchant for finding trouble. So in the midst of a relatively engaging conversation about politics and literature, I sense a shift in the energy charge of the establishment. I tune in to what is now a fairly heated argument down the length of the bar, complete with name-calling and blustery threat. I watch as the conflict escalates until the proprietor is telling my volatile Italian-Irish pal to vacate the premises. Meanwhile a drunk female patron, who still has her wits about her, is interposing herself between him and his challenger.
So my buddy comes over to our little group and asks if any of us are carrying a knife. We aren't, and he eyes a bottle which is quickly taken away by the alert barmaid. He's pretty sure that he's going to be followed out of the door and jumped. But eventually, with further prodding from the staff- he leaves. Just as suspected he is followed by the diminutive adversary who called him out in the first place. I look at my drinking partner, and without speaking we go outside to see if we can minimize whatever violence is about to take place.
Out on the street we are greeted by the sight of two rutting males, chest-to-chest and posturing, and exchanging promises of imminent mayhem. We are really just out there to ensure that it's a "fair fight". Of course our friend's challenger has now been joined by one of his own boys- looking recently incarcerated, and assuring his "dawg" that he can handle the two of us. Instead of taking the bait I stare at his jailhouse eyes and ask him if he can defuse the situation. He says, "No... I can't do shit." Somehow I figured as much, but it was worth a try. But despite their primate displays, these boys are making no real moves to initiate a fistfight. And all the while that same drunk girl is coming to the rescue by continually hanging on our friend, making it easy for him to retain his manhood without throwing out more insults. So what happens? These fools start talking about "blasting" us, and reaching into the back of their saggy-assed jeans, as if they are going to pull out their "gats".
Now if you are a suburbanite, you probably piss your pants at this point. But this new level of threat actually alleviates the tension just a bit. Because the way we interpret this situation is that these boys really have no intention of actually fighting. They want a quick way out that preserves whatever sense they have of themselves as a couple of bad-ass homeboyz. So we hold our tongues, refusing to escalate the situation by calling them out further. In fact nobody really wants to get in some silly streetfight over nothing, and soon everyone gets in their cars and drives home without harm.
Despite our intuition, there's always a chance that those kids could have been armed. An ordinary Friday night could have erupted into some sort of violence. We went home relieved that the night's drama had a happy ending. All of us are in our thirties. We have the benefit of experience and even a bit of wisdom. We can quickly assess the best possible outcome, and how to arrive at it. Had this set-up occurred ten years ago it might have turned out real bad. But ultimately no one got bit last night.
Last night after I wrote my post I ventured once again out into the warm Friday night air to meet up with a few buddies at a friend's relatively new bar. I didn't go to my usual haunt because I was in the mood for something different, and so were my companions. So I get to this neighborhood joint and settle in with a stool right along the bar. I quickly fall into conversation with a recent acquaintance, and eventually I'm surrounded by other people I know. For a weekend night the place is relatively empty, and so it takes only minutes until I drop my customary alertness and settle in to a comfortable pace. It's as if I'm at a small private party where I've known all the attendees for years.
But the problem is that I am not in a private sanctuary, but rather in a public drinking establishment. It wasn't completely appropriate to drop my guard. This dive is in the center of a neighborhood that is steadily getting gentrified, but still has a gritty and violent edge that can pop up like a target in the "whack-a-mole" at Chuck E. Cheese. Compounding the problem is one of my friend's rather stubborn penchant for finding trouble. So in the midst of a relatively engaging conversation about politics and literature, I sense a shift in the energy charge of the establishment. I tune in to what is now a fairly heated argument down the length of the bar, complete with name-calling and blustery threat. I watch as the conflict escalates until the proprietor is telling my volatile Italian-Irish pal to vacate the premises. Meanwhile a drunk female patron, who still has her wits about her, is interposing herself between him and his challenger.
So my buddy comes over to our little group and asks if any of us are carrying a knife. We aren't, and he eyes a bottle which is quickly taken away by the alert barmaid. He's pretty sure that he's going to be followed out of the door and jumped. But eventually, with further prodding from the staff- he leaves. Just as suspected he is followed by the diminutive adversary who called him out in the first place. I look at my drinking partner, and without speaking we go outside to see if we can minimize whatever violence is about to take place.
Out on the street we are greeted by the sight of two rutting males, chest-to-chest and posturing, and exchanging promises of imminent mayhem. We are really just out there to ensure that it's a "fair fight". Of course our friend's challenger has now been joined by one of his own boys- looking recently incarcerated, and assuring his "dawg" that he can handle the two of us. Instead of taking the bait I stare at his jailhouse eyes and ask him if he can defuse the situation. He says, "No... I can't do shit." Somehow I figured as much, but it was worth a try. But despite their primate displays, these boys are making no real moves to initiate a fistfight. And all the while that same drunk girl is coming to the rescue by continually hanging on our friend, making it easy for him to retain his manhood without throwing out more insults. So what happens? These fools start talking about "blasting" us, and reaching into the back of their saggy-assed jeans, as if they are going to pull out their "gats".
Now if you are a suburbanite, you probably piss your pants at this point. But this new level of threat actually alleviates the tension just a bit. Because the way we interpret this situation is that these boys really have no intention of actually fighting. They want a quick way out that preserves whatever sense they have of themselves as a couple of bad-ass homeboyz. So we hold our tongues, refusing to escalate the situation by calling them out further. In fact nobody really wants to get in some silly streetfight over nothing, and soon everyone gets in their cars and drives home without harm.
Despite our intuition, there's always a chance that those kids could have been armed. An ordinary Friday night could have erupted into some sort of violence. We went home relieved that the night's drama had a happy ending. All of us are in our thirties. We have the benefit of experience and even a bit of wisdom. We can quickly assess the best possible outcome, and how to arrive at it. Had this set-up occurred ten years ago it might have turned out real bad. But ultimately no one got bit last night.
posted by Merge Divide at 7:38 PM
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