What are you going to do about it?

 I had pulled into the Petco parking lot into a spot that was slightly too narrow for my car. When I opened my driver side door, I lightly tapped the side panel of the pick-up truck next to me. Out of the cab came a voice that I couldn’t identify as young or old big or small yelling 

“What the hell you doing to my truck?”

I said “What did I do – wake you up?”

In the past, this would have been, for me, an amazingly insolent way to move the encounter. 

The still faceless voice yelled again “Did you hurt my truck?”

I said “There’s a 6-inch gash in the side.” 

The guy kind of jumped out of the truck then and presented himself a scrawny old man like me. I don’t remember breathing a sigh of relief. Certainly I knew in that moment that if it came to this I would take him, but I tend in these situations to assume these days that I could take anybody – and I mostly think I’m right. When I get righteously angry there is a pretty amazing force working behind me.  (Read my post “Hanta yo!“)

But in this case I wasn’t really angry.  Nor was I scared. I was really kind of amused at myself. I was aware that I was fucking with this guy. 

He yelled kind of in my face “Don’t you know how to open a car door?” 

I didn’t have a clever or amusing response for this, just knew that I was not about to give an inch –  so I stood right in his face and yelled,

“Fuck you!”

Now this is pretty frontal, but I actually did manage, a moment later, to take it still further. 

I forget what insult he then hurled, but my response was to ask, in the most absolutely demeaning, disrespectful fashion I could manage,

“What are you gonna do about it, motherfucker?” 

I had absolutely thrown down the gauntlet in a male-male confrontation. I might as well have said “Let’s settle this right here.” That would be about the only statement that would make it even more clear that I was ready to fight him.  

My goal was to break his will, to humiliate him, to finish him off – to make him regret that he had messed with me.  But even more than this, my goal was to see if I could do this, if I was capable, if I was willing. This was a throwaway, a nothing. I had used this guy for practice. He had signed up for it by starting with me, by fucking with me – not knowing what he was dealing with. It was all part of my education: my training, my learning to be at home with my own aggression.

He backed off like I knew he would.  He started to get back in his truck and said,

“I’m gonna call the police.”  I said,

“And tell them I used a bad word? I don’t think they come out for that.”

He grumbled and finished getting in his truck without a rejoinder.

I felt totally great. This whole thing had been huge fun for me. 

This Majo guy who has never been in a fight in his life is absolutely ready for one. Everything I know about Energy, about Force causes me to think I would do pretty good. I have done some karate and tae kwon do, not enough to be dangerous by any means but enough to know some things about the manipulation of energy – of force. When I think about having a fight with another guy, I often will involuntarily emit a kiai or “power shout”  with so much force that it makes me jump back. I think these shouts would probably throw an opponent well off his game.

And I’m clear that should my positive estimation of my forcefulness be over-exaggerated and I get end up getting beat up, that – for a guy who’s never been in a fight – would be only slightly less cool than to actually do the beating up.

 Now I know that I am capable of this response if it ever is actually needed. I’m ready and willing and able to back down some random motherfucker who is dangerous to me or others.  I am totally convinced that in this particular situation size and age would not have made a difference to me – nor will it in any future situation.

Published by Majo

These days all of my identities are converging: whether I am offering a blessing in the grocery store checkout line, offering a prayer in a poem or experiencing the kinship with all life while walking my or a client's dog - it's all the same. It's all Life.

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