Fonze

*I had typed this up yesterday, but at some point I finished typing, went to the bar, and forgot to hit the post button. I'm too lazy to change every instance of time relation, so figure it out.

On my way to work today yesterday, apparently I pissed some guy off pretty bad and he followed me to my job. Things were still fuzzy from last night, but he was driving like the only person on the road and so when I got the chance, I got around him and cut him off like a dick.

So I got to work, pulled into a parking spot and about 30 seconds later there was a car I vaguely remembered sitting behind me, boxing me in. The driver was a slightly big guy in his prolly 30s (this was a company car, too, decked out in advertisements for the business) and in the passanger seat was a boy perhaps 8-10, barely tall enough for me to see his entire head over the dash. The guy had his window down and was screaming obscenities at me, so I rolled down my window and looked behind and out at him. He was saying stuff like "I'm going to kick your fucking ass you faggot" and some other stuff. Finally I got tired of listening to him and I said "you talk that way in front of your son?" I'm not sure, in retrospect, if that was a very smart or an incredibly stupid thing to say. On one hand, it obviously was going to (and did) piss him off, but on the other hand perhaps it put the thought of his child closer to the forefront of his brain while still in his rage, and might have served to quell the fire to some degree. Needless to say, he wasn't a fan of that comment and replied a classic "My son could prolly kick your ass too you faggot." I immediately looked at his son and sized him up, out of instinct, of course. Joking on that last sentence, but he really did say that. After he said that he got out of the car and proceeded to rant some more, stomping around, huffing and puffing. It would have been comical if I wasn't afraid. Not afraid of pain, but afraid of the consequences of the only course of action I saw if this escalated. But I couldn't go anywhere and I certainly couldn't have allowed myself to show fear, part of an unfortunate side-effect to that was that I also couldn't back down. "Fear and foolish pride," I think there's a saying about that.

I'm in my late 20's, I used to scrap when I was young a lot, but not as a man. I'm 5'5" and 125 lbs; I'm a small guy. A fight is more of a life and death situation for somebody my size, especially when the other person is twice my size. All I had, aside from my keys, a lighter, and a pack of smokes was my box-cutter razor knife. Safety danc-- I mean safety blade, so it has a guard and only sticks out 1 cm past the guard, fully extended. But it's a fresh blade and quite sharp; a quick, forceful slice or two of the forearm by the elbow can easily end the use of an arm in a fight, plus a trip to the hospital later on and quick slashes to arms is a good way to both negate a threat and guard your blade from being taken while defending yourself. Or, God forbid, the neck. But I had my hand on that little joke of a blade like it was my life-line, while watching this guy rant and rave, trying to act intimidating. I didn't back down or cower, but my thoughts were racing a million miles an hour with fear of all of the possibilities of what could be if I had to use the thing.

While outside, he continued to go off on a tirade and stated that "street racing happens in the street;" yeah that's typed verbatim. I'll give him that he was flustered, but still, that was funny. Thankfully I had the tact not to seek a fight by joking on him or visibly smiling at that comment, though the thought did cross my mind. But I was still feeling it from last night and clearly from the way I was driving, I had little patience for bullshit at the time. I said something else to him while he was outside that wasn't exactly the "backing-down" type of words that I perhaps should have said, but I don't remember at this point what it was. It's ironic that despite driving a muscle car (mustang) I've never raced it, nor do I ever want to race it, especially the more little problems the car gets that I just don't have the time, money, patience, tools and knowledge to fix; my car doesnt accelerate like it used to.

Shortly after, he got back in his car, which I halfway expected when he didn't walk immediately up to my car upon getting out of his own; stupid, emotional, impulsive decisions like that happen much more likely in less time rather than more. Also, walking up on somebody in their car in that situation would be a death wish because you don't know what they have in there; I could have had a gun for all he knew and I certainly had a knife, albeit a terrible one. Every adult I know has some type of weapon or object they identify as a weapon in their car, just in case of an emergency, so it's a terrible idea to walk up on somebody in such a case, never mind that the car can still technically move and that much weight doesn't need much speed to do damage. But still, I was greatly relieved that he did walk back into his car; if he had walked over, just due to the nature of the only weapon I had on hand, it would have been bloody. Terrible, like a horror movie. I worked as a phlebotomist for a little while some years ago amd now I work as a butcher, so I've had to directly handle large amounts of both human and animal blood, in some cases as a phlebotomist, as it poured out of the patient. But that's different to this and mostly unrelatable due simply to the difference in situation and mindset for all involved. But more-so than anything, as he got in his car I thought how close that poor kid was to having the absolute worst day of his life, and he was innocent in the whole thing. One or both of us would have gone to the hospital and/or jail, if not worse. I've seen somebody die in front of my eyes before and it's not something I would ever want to see again, something I'd never want to cause, and certainly something I would never want to bring onto another, especially a young child, less than 10 feet away from me and peering over the dashboard, not fully understanding what's going on. Never mind that I could have been killed by my own blade; things happen fast. But if that guy would have come over to my car, something would have happened and I wouldn't be sitting at my house right now; something like that little blade could have easily been turned against me, much as it could have done too much for me. It's a bit ironic that I believe that every law-abiding, and stable minded adult should own a gun, and yet I've never felt the need or real want to go buy one myself, preferring to just stick to whatever piece of shit tool or object is nearby, apparently. But guns and confrontations are bad news; then again when a situation is already life and death, I suppose it's only appropriate.

After the guy got into his car, he continued to shout at me and hung out the window, I guess so he would appear more intimidating, like he was about to jump out. At some point he said, "next time you see this car [don't drive like an asshole]" (or something to that effect) I had to open my mouth once more, and I said, "how about the next time you see this car, you get over and you won't have to deal with me," which admittedly was a really stupid thing for me to say, but I never claimed to be the sharpest apple in the race. Then he got all huffy again and acted like he was about to get out again, but after a few more words he finally settled with telling me to get a life, which I found a bit strange because he was the one who angerly followed a total stranger out of road rage with his young son sitting in the car right there with him. After that I went into work; I was glad to find no damage to my car when I got back. Still, I do feel like a total dick because for all I know they could have been having a great day right before I entered the picture and that's why he wasn't paying attention to his walling off the road, but by the same token he could have been acting like a total dick before I ever showed up.

This whole thing was strange to me and I guess at this point all of those other thoughts are moot; I'm grateful that nothing really happened.