It wasn't until this weekend I realized how unbelievable stupid violence is. Friday night as I walked down the street while talking on my phone, I saw two guys sizing each other up a block ahead. As I got closer, they began pushing each other until one warned, ""I suggest you walk away now, dude."" More squabbling ensued, and by the time I was 10 feet from them on the sidewalk, I decided to just stand and watch for a bit. Completely ignoring me, they both had each other in headlocks pushing their red faces toward the ground. ""You've gone too far, man, too far!"" they both screamed.
It was somewhat entertaining to see two young men resort back to playground days where fights were about stealing someone's Transformers (robots in disguise) and having uncool tennis shoes. Wearing big puffy coats and heavily breathing out white puffs of cold air, the two looked like angry Eskimos duking it out over the best ice fishing spot. But the grunts and awkward punches to each other's arms made the scene overall painful to watch.
And this comes from a girl who went to a high school where hallway fights indicated the passing period better than the actual ringing of the bell. When more than one student ran by me on the way to class, I knew a brawl had broken out nearby. A few minutes later, an old, panting security guard would follow as static voices of other faculty members yelled through the walkie-talkies, ""What the hell is going on?"" These regular school occurrences never interested me much, but seventh grade was different.
Those were the days when I religiously watched WWE SmackDown. Whether it was the fold-up chairs shattering on top of wrestlers' heads or The Rock in a spandex Speedo, I was entertained by something. But I think it was mostly the latter because that was the year I called everyone a jabronie although I'm still not sure what that means. I also walked around the house screaming, ""Do you smell what The Rock is cooking?"" to anyone I encountered—my dog included.
But now, that gladiator mentality has completely left me and in no way, shape or form do I get joy from watching other people hurt or pretend to hurt each other. The whole idea that one can ""conquer"" another through brute strength is simply unreasonable and reinforces the idea that physical power is the most important kind. I understand how hard it may be to deny a ""throw down"" when the challenge is presented, but you will look like a bigger person in the end by walking away.
As this weekend realization became fully apparent to me, I knew I needed to make a few changes in my own life, as well. So I tossed the switchblade from under my pillow and hung up the brass knuckles that resided in my purse. I'm too tired and old for all that now and the guilt I have from putting so many grown men in the hospital is just too much to bear anymore. But if you're still curious about my notorious past, visit my unlucky contenders in the UW Hospital and mention something about Da Joint (my old nickname on the streets). Don't ask Troy though, he'll just start crying.
