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I think there is also a somewhat different perception of fighting happening here. In my close community all efforts are made to avoid physical confrontation because it isn't viewed as a sport. It's the last resort of desperation because your life is at stake. Not pride, not social standing, and not over the contents of your wallet.
That's an attitude I've always envied. I certainly don't regard fighting as a sport, because I am short, fat, perpetually unfit and physically very clumsy. I don't feel attracted to the abstract idea of a fight. I know, on an intellectual level and even on some emotional levels, that it's the right approach. However, I can think of a number of occasions where I've allowed myself to become ridiculously wound up by another person, and it's taken all my willpower just to take a deep breath and walk away. I don't think it's enough just to walk away from a situation like that, I think it's important to walk away calmly and in the full knowledge that this is the right thing to do. But although on every single occsion I've been wound up like that I've managed to either smooth things over or remove myself, there's been times when I've been dragging that bloody two-year-old by its sticky hand every step of the way. I'm not talking about occasions where there's been an outright threat of violence (I get away from those without any hesitation), I'm talking about occassions where there's been verbal abuse, inappropriate touching, etc.
A particular night always sticks in my mind. I was down the pub with Lurid, and he'd gone to the loo leaving me on my own. Two wankers with a laser pointer started screwing around, shining it on my tits and shaved head, and in my eyes. I experienced this rush of purile anger--"toddleresque" describes it perfectly--this ridiculous desire to storm over, grab the laser and stamp on it. When Lurid came back I got a grip and asked to leave the pub. I vented my spleen on a couple of shopping trolleys and a bottlebank on the way home.
Not long after that a young man was beaten to death outside the pub up the road after remonstrating with some guys shining a laser pointer on his female friends' tits. Same guys? I'll never know. But if I'd gone over and yelled at them, it could easily have been me or Lurid getting pounded to death with a chunk of wood. And over what, a little dot of red light?
Conversly if I saw someone getting mugged on my street I'd probably piss myself and run away. Fuck off, Inner Toddler. |
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