'Cause I'm A Man, Not A Boy; And There Are Things You Can't Avoid
I nearly got into a bar fight tonight at the XO Lounge. You can go ahead and reread that sentence again and again, but it won’t be any more believable. Here’s what happened...
Tonight was Volunteer Appreciation Night at the nonprofit where I work, and to celebrate the night the volunteers and staff went to the Hornets/Heat game, where our Volunteer of The Year was the honorary captain of the Hornets and got to hand out the game ball before it all got started. It was great fun, and I had two tickets, so I took my brother.
We left at half-time, because I grow weary of professional sports quickly and we had plans to meet people at the XO Lounge at 8:30. My brother and I arrive at the XO, in the basement of the newly remodeled Colcord Building, and find a lounge that could only be described as plush.
It’s kind of a trendy place, bordering on “gay bar,” but it’s nice. We’re the only customers in the place. We sit at the bar. We have drinks. They’ve got San Pelligrino. I have a bottle.
Then the game lets out (Hornets cruise to a big victory over the defending champs) and the place starts to fill up. Suddenly the three bartenders are unable to keep up with all the customers. Suddenly it’s crowded. Suddenly I feel a tap, tap, tapping on the back of my chair. I can faintly remember my Boy Scout training, but I think someone is tapping out “I-AM-A-JERK” in Morse Code on my chair. I quickly grow annoyed with this, and turn to face the mouth-breathing jackass behind me, who is resting both of his meaty sausage-hands on my chair.
“Hi. Would you please not put your hands on my chair?”
“No.”
And that was the most civilized thing Doug managed to say to me. We’ll call him “Doug” ‘cause that’s the knuckle-dragger’s name. He proceeded to call me various names, imply that I had sexual relations with men, and held steadfast to the belief that his behavior was proper, based on the legal logic behind “I’m not touching you.” The entire time, I wanted to pick up my bottle of San Pelligrino and smash it over his fucking melon head, but I didn’t. For one thing, his older brother was on the other side of me and could have easily fucked me up. More importantly, I’m not a violent person. I don’t know if that’s a strength or a weakness.
So, Doug berates me for a while, I try to get him to back away from my chair, and I refuse to fight him. Soon my brother draws Doug’s attention away, and things began to calm down. I think at that point Doug realized what a picture-perfect douche-hole he was being (that’s a combo douche bag and asshole, in case you were wondering). It’s hard to stop being a douche-hole once you get going, especially if the ego gets involved. It’s even harder if you’re drunk and stupid, and I suspect poor Doug may have been afflicted with both conditions.
His brother Chad, on the other hand, was extremely rational, and neither a douche bag nor an asshole. He actually introduced himself to me, acted like a man, and apologized for his brother (who, incidentally, refused to give his name). Chad offered to buy my brother and I a round of whatever we were drinking, and he also asked me what I do for a living (he overlooked my initial response of “Apparently I deal with assholes all day”). I told him I work for a nonprofit, that I’m trying to make the City a better place. As I said that, I remembered the importance of nonviolent conflict resolution in our mission statement, and I wondered if Chad had some freaky mind-reading powers.
And while there was a part of me that would have screamed with sheer joy at seeing bits of broken green glass where Doug’s eyes had once been, I knew it would be the wrong thing to do. And of course I’m left thinking how utterly unsatisfying the denouement to this story truly is, but that’s life.
posted by Seth @ 23:36
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