waiting for my sandwich
I was in a deli in Santa Monica waiting for my sandwich to be made. I grabbed a bag of chips off a shelf, walked back behind the counter and starting eating them. After a few bites a man glanced over at the bag, then at me, then back at the bag and finally said You should wait until you pay to eat those. I slowly turned my head in his direction and responded sarcastically Thanks for the tip and continued eating. Neither my tone of voice nor my belittling, furrowed face pleased him. You’re an asshole he said. I disagree I responded, and if you want my opinion I think you’re an annoying, nosey wanker. I had only used the word wanker maybe a dozen times in my life but it felt like the perfect insult. This was not the answer he was expecting and he shot me a cold, devilish stare insinuating that if this was not a crowded deli he’d punch me right in the nose. The tense moment lasted about 10 seconds until I was called over to pick up my sandwich.
Now-- I am not a violent man, in fact I have a big issue with the idea of violence in general, and I have never been in a legitimate fight with anyone, but there have been many times when I wish I had been provoked enough to throw a punch. I imagine it being a big thrill, and if justified (which is almost always not the case) it would send a rush through my body that may last for weeks. It’s a very thin line to cross because violence should never be the answer, but I also take myself very seriously and stand behind all my actions. Basically, I’m not going to allow another human to walk all over me (or someone I care deeply about) without consequence. All I can do is eagerly wait for the day I find myself in an altercation. I compare it to a nightmare; it’s something that leaves me terrified and vulnerable, but I cannot deny the exhilaration it instills. I often spring out of bed after a nightmare feeling more alive than I have in months.
get off my lawn
Many nights I find myself spouting negativity and claiming everyone is a waste of time as I lay on my bed, clutching a glass of wine, checking the clock every minute to see if it has begun ticking backwards yet. I feel more and more like a bitter old man every sunrise and the majority of me is perfectly okay with that. It would be a misunderstanding to think I hate people, I just think they: talk too much, listen far too little, hardly ever make the appropriate effort, cherish the little moments about 5% as much as they should, concern themselves with the “now” far more then I would recommend, listen to shitty, talentless, cookie-cutter musicians, talk way too much, say thank you and please far too little, show a lack of respect to those who deserve it (which is everyone until they prove unworthy of receiving it), show an inability to admit when they are wrong, don’t appreciate the written word or art in general, don’t sympathize enough with those less fortunate, drive flashy, fluorescent cars with license plates like IMASTAR or CASHMNY or GRTTITS and adjust their $400 sunglasses that cover half of their face and pop the collar on their $200 polo so everyone on the fucking street will stop dead in their tracks, pull their hands to their face and scream in orgasmic jealousy because toys and materials define status and command all the respect and attention when all it says to the thinkers is My cock is the size of a baby carrot and I feel insecure every minute of the day. The reasons never end and they always try to pull you under and drown you but the persistent ones who secrete quiet confidence will always have the last laugh, even if it’s only a chuckle.