"Look at me. I'm fat, black, can't dance, and I have two gay fathers. People have been messing with me my whole life. I learned a long time ago there's no sense getting all riled up every time a bunch of idiots give you a hard time. In the end, the universe tends to unfold as it should. Plus I have a really large penis. That keeps me happy."
- Tarik from Harold & Kumar Go to Whitecastle
Last night I experienced the ignorance of misguided youth... let me explain. After an evening of drinking and frivolities in the city, Anna and I were enjoying a coffee at 4am to cap off what was a splendid night. We were sitting at the corner of Liverpool and George, minding our own business, when a drunk dude sitting at the table next to us started to sling obscenities in my direction (unprovoked mind you). As they were non-personal to me per se, I shrugged it off as unimportant and ignored him. But sure enough he continued.
As the countless insults increased, I tried to defuse the situation by first reasoning with the colprit to cease and desist with his rude behaviour, and after this failed attempt at peace, I kindly asked his friend what was wrong with his boy. I knew that if I retaliated with remarks and curses of my own that it would make the matter worse, however I couldn't help myself, this guy was really obnoxious. "Hey mate, why don't you fuck off!", I quipped, hoping that he would get slightly afraid of my larger size and stop the tirade... he didn't.
He stood up and walked around the corner to where his mate was sitting and filled him in, I suspect, that I was trying to "start" something. I thought that the first drunk guy was bad, but boy was I sadly mistaken. A pimply 19-20 year old with a silver chain dangling around his neck strolled up to our table - "Why are you trying to start my mates?!", he demanded. I explained the situation in a cool, calm and collected manner but it didn't matter. After noticing that I wasn't going to snap as I suspect most people in my situation would, he changed his mood. "Hey - can you roll me one of those cigarettes honey?", he asked of Anna in a somewhat charming way. "Umm, no", replied Anna, rightfully so.
Before I continue with the story, at this stage of our encounter with the three amigos, both Anna and I were getting really heated. Drunk guy number 2 was surprisingly good at insulting us, some really original off-the-cuff material if I do say so myself. So what happened next didn't help our tempers - with my back to them I felt a warm, slimy projectile hit my arm. I looked down to find a large wad of mucus trickling down my skin. Drunk guy number 1 had spat on me - the ultimate insult.
I'm wondering what was going through his head when he did this (probably not much considering he himself was running on drunken fury), but in any case they must of expected me to stand up and continue to play their game. Considering I'm on the journey for peace they caught a lucky break, because the way that I was feeling I felt like standing up, placing my hand around his stupid neck and driving his body to the ground in a UFC style takedown - probably cracking his empty skull on the steely sidewalk. But I didn't - in my zen-like manner I reached for a napkin and wiped away the phlegm that was now solidifying on my skin.
I was thinking to myself on the way home that night of how I would've taken such pleasure in really hurting those guys. Sure they would've got a few punches in but boy they would know my fury - or would they? They did everything they could to try and get me to fight them but I didn't. Is that playing on their minds today? Will my act of peace and love lead them to not lash out at every man, woman and child they see enjoying themselves? Maybe.
Part of me feels sorry for guys like that. I wish they could feel the love and compassion that I feel for every single person that I haven't yet met, and even the ones that I have. I know that they aren't going to change much though - after all they did claim to be a part of some "Bronx" gang that they were going to call to come and hurt me for so rudely sitting next to them at a cafe. Being in a gang is a different story I realise, being tough is a part of the rules. These guys weren't in a gang though, they were cowards. The true warrior doesn't need to accost strangers on the street by spitting on them and threatening to stab them. The true warrior maintains peace until force becomes absolutely necessary. In last nights case, I didn't need to use force, and they walked away with their tails between their legs - all fired up on fight juice looking for some poor soul to dance with the devil.
To quote The Art of War by Sun Tzu:
"Therefore one hundred victories in one hundred battles is not the most skillful. Seizing the enemy without fighting is the most skillful."