I Am The Guy Behind You!

I am the guy you hate to have behind you. You know the type big, tall, physically imposing. Always with the angry glare, checking you out, impatiently behind you waiting for his moment. I am sure you know the type. ¨Jeezus Christ, whats his problem?¨ you mutter silently to yourself. 

But its all more mundane, my cause of anger even boring. I am the guy stuck behind you at the ¨Rapid Check Out¨ line at the supermarket. I have my fifteen items or less, but you have decided that didn't apply to you. You are "Ms. ForTheChildren". Because your hurrying home its OK for you to roll up in a dump truck at the fast check out line and delay all the rest of us from going home to our families. Right now you have thirty three items and counting. Of course, your ever so sweet. This will only take a minute you say. But its my minutes your taking. You get to decide how you will spend your minutes and my minutes.

You mutter on about having to hurry home to your children, that is why your in this shorter line. I want to ask if its okay to park behind your car as you prepare to back out because I need to sync my laptop with my Ipad. Its just for a few moments. It wont be long. I just need to pay the electric bill, It is all about keeping the lights on after all, its for the children. Also, I have to send some adorable pictures of cats to my mother. I should really email these right away. She is just crazy about about kitty's. I need to keep the old girls spirits up, ya know?.

Or your "Mr. BlockDad" the most popular guy on the neighborhood. A regular Joe, the man who somehow, defying all laws of physics and logic, packed thirteen hyperactive children from the neighborhood into a minivan and then decided to do a negotiation in the Del Taco drive thru on how many slushs, tacos, and churros that need to be ordered. Did I also mention that today burns hotter than Sofia Vergara in a micro bikini? Never mind, as my life slowly drains away on this hot July day, four other cars besides mine are waiting the results of your complex negotiations.

I would never be so rude as not to mention some of your family members. There is the ¨Place Holder¨. This is the guy in front of you in line at the movies that when its his turn to buy tickets at the theater proceeds to wave over his eight giggling friends. All of who are seeing the same movie, but just don't know which one. They all drove together and plan to spend the evening together. They only need to decide which movie. Then each proceeds to buy a single ticket to draw out the process.

Then there is the "Linebacker". You know this one. Your holding the door open at a store, church, building of some sort. Trying to be considerate. In goes your wife or children, or you would like to think they would. Then the Linebacker comes along. Muttering some form of thanks they rush through the door, separating you from you loved ones or party, forcing your family and friends to jump back for fear of being trampled upon. Of course, they are doing it for "the children".

Did you ever notice that these assorted inconsiderate, time wasting louts are truly and totally offended when you point out their behavior? Its never their actions that are the problem. Its your or my reaction to their rudeness that's the real problem. Its as if they are saying, "Wait, you mean you wont allow me to waste your time so I can be first, be inconsiderate of others, and enjoy my life while I trample all over you?". I don't know how many times I have been told literally how rude I am for pointing out their rudeness. Funny enough, even my friends who accompany me would prefer I not stick up or point out the obvious. That it is the barbarians of this world, those who would walk all over you without a second thought, those who don't respond to your kindness or patience, those who actually feed on it, they depend on you and me being nicer, politer, more considerate, which most of us are by nature. They have become so accustomed to it that they now assume its their right to engage in insensitive behavior. To impose on the rest of us because we are to nice to stand up for ourselves or others because we don't want to make a scene.

I am afraid that doesn't work for me. I belong to the old school idea that all transactions carry costs. Let me explain. I love bananas. My favorite fruit. Banana bread, fried bananas, banana pancakes, banana flavored ice cream,etc. Get the idea? But bananas are not free. They cost something. So if the cost is to high, I eat apples. If all fruit costs to much, I just don't eat it. This idea carries over to all activities. Its just not easy to see at first. Lets say I still love bananas, but am allergic to them. I can still eat them, but the additional "price" is a trip to the emergency room. That's the added cost for my transaction of eating bananas. So when the Linebacker, Mr.BlockDad, the Placeholder, or Ms.ForTheChildren try their "I am the center of the world" acts I call them on it. I point it out, "No, your friends go to the end of the line.", "No, you shouldnt bring more than 15 items here.", or "You just stepped on my grandkid you insufferable piece of crap". I make them pay, make them suffer the slings and arrows of their insensitive, impolite acts.Just make them pay for their behavior.

And don't worry about their feelings to much. They have not put a lot of thought in considering your feelings after all.

My Wife's Idea of a Love Bite

They say the crocodile has the greatest biting force of any animal at 5,000 psi. One 19 ft long Nile crocodile had a bite measured at 5,600 psi. That can cleave through a bowling ball with ease. I think the crocodile would probably take the bowler first for no other purpose than ease of digestion, but pulverizing a bowling ball with only your jaws is still an impressive achievement. Another animal with a phenomenal bite is the African Spotted Hyena whose bite has been at measured over 1,000 psi. This animal preys on humans on occasion. Attacks on people have been recorded as far a field as Malawi, Uganda, Mozambique, Azerbaijan, and even India. In 2004 35 people were killed in a twelve-month period along the Mozambique/Tanzania border. Finally, did you know the bite of the Gila Monster is so powerful that to remove it from the area bitten you sometimes have to cut off its head from its body?

I married my wife for one reason, and one reason only, she wanted me. No other woman has ever said, acted, or intimated that simple thing. My wife wanted me. Yes, I loved her. She was beautiful. Deep, thoughtful passionate brown eyes, long classic brown hair reaching to her rear. She was five foot three inches and had an ass so hard you could crack a walnut on it. She was 41 years old, Mexican, only spoke Spanish, had 3 wonderful kids (lost a fourth), and on welfare. Her husband walked out on her, but she never once lost her dignity, integrity, or charm. She still under all that had the nerve to tell me, a successful, single, employed man that if I was not interested in a serious relationship, one ending in marriage, to take a hike. But if I was interested, she wanted her next marriage to be to me.

And she was passionate.

It is a stereotype, but my wife was the super passionate Latin woman. During our fights not only words, but also objects were hurled. Among the typical books, pillows, sheets, towels, came coffee cups (with hot coffee included), plates, silverware, and once a chair. I never hurled anything back. Insults and screams yes, but objects never. Reason one is simple. My wife is as mentioned previously small in stature. I on the other hand am huge. Six foot seven inches, 280lbs, and bushy brown hair with blue eyes. At the time sort of a Grizzly Adams appearance, I could easily imagine that if the Police came that one look at the size between the two of us combined with any sign of injury on her part, would lead to an invitation to a free night in the County jail. Despite all this I stayed. Two reasons, she truly loved me and I her. Reason two, the makeup sex was phenomenal.

We had just bought a house in Anaheim, Ca. It had four bedrooms, 3 baths and a big backyard with a small garage. My wife is JEALOUS, or at least was then. She felt I was working too many hours and that I was actually having an affair. So she started following me to work. Parking in front of the building to see who would go in after I arrived and trying to spot the “other woman”. She started following me into the gym. She had her children and our grandchildren tag along with me to keep an eye on me. She began to check my wallet and pants for phone numbers, names, receipts anything to suggest I was banging someone on the side. Finally it all blew up one Wednesday afternoon.

How the fight erupted, exploded, I really don’t remember. I just remember that it was in our bedroom, my shirt was off, and all of a sudden she was hitting me. Not little girl punches, but full force pounding my nose and gouge my eye out punches. I grabbed her hands in mine and handcuffed both of them in my one hand and slammed them against the wall. She screamed and kneed me in the groin. I covered up and then pushed both her legs against the wall and pinned them with my one leg. So here I am, 270lbs of weight pinning the arms and legs of my 110lb wife against the wall. I’m thinking to myself, “Ok bitch, what can you do now?” She leaned forward with her head and bit a chunk of skin a half an inch wide and three quarters of an inch long off my chest. Immediately blood covered my chest. Not little drips of blood, but rivers. I am what my doctor terms “a bleeder”. Small cuts bleed and do not clot easily. Big ones, like having a chunk ripped out of your chest, are like the Mississippi River at flood stage.

Now here is the weird part. Immediately she starts crying, sobbing, and wants to take me to the hospital. The same woman who for no apparent reason attacked me, pummeled my face with blows that caused my nose to bleed, kicked me in the balls, and to top it off ripped a chunk of flesh from my chest with her teeth, now wants to baby me. I mean really, it may be a defect of my character, a shortcoming of my soul, but if your going to intentionally hurt someone then you should just do it with no apologies. Call me old fashioned but why waste the effort to intentionally inflict pain, suffering, and spill blood only to feel immediately repentful? Beat, stab, punch, backhand, whatever it may be. But if your intentionally going for the hurt, then hurt! With no regrets.

The trip to the hospital was a simple ride completely lacking dignity. I wore a blood stained white t-shirt with a blood stain the size of a balloon, dripping down to my pants. Screaming and borderline crying all the way. I got to the hospital, where no one believed my story. I would have been better off telling them I fought off a man trying to rob me with a knife. It would have been more respectable at least. I was told that the treatment for a “flesh wound” was a simple compressed bandage to staunch the blood flow. Next came the shots. Shots for pain, antibiotics, tetanus and then distemper. The treatment is the same that you would do for a dog bite, only in this case they wouldn't be turning my wife into Animal Control to be put down. I could only wish.

This meant I had to miss the following day at work. I was the Warehouse Supervisor and the following day I had to report to Tim Goff’s office. Tim was the Plant Manager for the Kwikset-Anaheim Facility. I sat there telling him the story. He first seamed angry I missed the prior day, slowly he looked more and more like a child being told a story of witches, knights, dragons, and maids in distress. Eyes getting wider, and a smile creeping on his face the whole length of the story. At the end he looked at me and said if I wanted a day off I should just ask or schedule it like everyone else. I pulled open my shirt and ripped off the bandage covering the wound. He let out a conscious “Holy Fuck”. Got up and walked into the next room and said, “You gotta come hear this story. Its the craziest fucking thing you ever heard.”