Anger at a Stupid Man

The Stable is a mediocre restaurant with the advantage of being the only one in the area with both liquor license and an outdoor dining area. Of course with all the restrictions lifted, you can eat inside as well. I’m not being unkind with my description; I’ve eaten there and been treated like shit, got served eh food and charged beaucoup dollars for Coronas. I used to support local businesses, but fuck it. Not worth it anymore. I’m less hassled by big business, and I don’t have to expect anything special.

I won’t dine inside either, so forget that suggestion. I think not; the vaccines clearly dwindle in level of protection just as any seasonal flu vaccine does; covid boosters are necessary for people about six months out from their last shot. Give or take.

We have four kinds of people when it comes to flu shots and the COVID-19 vaccine. The first is at one extreme end, and those think that their vaccine has rendered invulnerability in them. Not true. Especially if engaging in the risk of going without masks indoors or in outdoor crowded areas. Fucking stupid. And indoor dining isn’t such a great thing if to do it you must unmask. Empty table between two parties? Among them unvaccinated or asymptomatic carriers? Hell, people are buying fake vaccine cards and most places don’t ask you to show them. You want an onion bloom that much? Really?

At the other extreme end are those who don’t intend to get the vaccine at all. Some have been killed by their own decisions. Fucking stupid.

Somewhere between lie the groups of those who take the shot but still refuse to go out except when necessary and then only with a mask. Smart folks. I like them. And the final group is made up of vehement anti-vaxxers who use political power and influence to spread fear and disinformation. How many have they killed? I tell you truly: they have blood on their hands just as surely as if they had lined people up and shot them.

Perhaps it is the time elapsed from the beginning of the pandemic or the time passed since the vaccines became available. I’m not sure and I don’t want to act as if I know anything at all. However, complacency has set in. I see it, and people shock me with their disregard for personal safety and that of others.

I should tell you what really matters and what has come to be a pleasant surprise.

Youths, a couple of young men, greeting me in passing with “good afternoon,” a respectful term accorded to officers in the Army, but a required one, to be given with a salute and with “sir” following the greeting. They don’t know what it means to me to be given such a greeting even if just in passing, even if just as a civilian. I look at them and I see hope. We are not doomed if such young men exist.

On the other hand, in passing the Stable Restaurant last weekend, at a distance from but beside the outside dining area, a man sitting among two women and one man said something in answer to a remark from a woman, which I didn’t hear. It was obvious that she had said something, posed as a derogatory question, possibly regarding my attire and cane. In answer the man said, making sure I could hear, “Probably going to the Special Olympics.”

I turned and looked directly at him. I knew exactly which one said it and he was looking at me. I needed restraint. I was fuming, then quickly overcome with rage. Bloody fool, making a comment like that. Besides, he’s so stupid he didn’t know it was the Paralympics that were going on. A bigot with an IQ too low to know how to be a proper idiot.

I thought about putting a scare into him. He was being a cruel, mouthy guy who was showing off to the women. I thought that shit went out with adulthood, but no. It doesn’t matter, the age of alpha males; they’re just slaves to upbringing, genes and testosterone. In other words, dickheads.

He didn’t know how easily I could have killed him. No confrontation and no bullshit, just death. He’d be stinking up a coffin and I’d be stinking up a holding cell awaiting trial.

And many other men would have done it for real. Shit happens every day. Shit just like that.

I wouldn’t do it at the restaurant. I’d have waited quietly out of sight until he left, followed him to his car and done it there. Most would simply have shot him. That shit happens every day, too.

Before uttering insults, you first need to think about what can happen after the words are out of your mouth. And the truth is, there’s no way to anticipate everything. There’s no such thing as “everything” because human behaviour has no restrictions and no limits.

It wasn’t that I thought he had insulted me. Paralympic competitors are extremely strong-willed, focused and dedicated. What the dumbass had really done was to pay me a compliment and the women thought it was funny. As for the Special Olympics? That’s an even higher compliment. For reasons he cannot ever understand. Because he’s stupid. Bigoted. An elitist. A toss pot. And the women who laughed at his joke and directed his attention to me in the first place?

Not worth being angry at. The fucking hormones that drive them to draw insults out of grown men must be merciless, and they have to live with it. They’re the losers in this. A strong woman does not behave thus. They don’t have to. Any man who is cool with her being strong knows better than throwing insults at strangers to impress her. That kind of thing is not exactly conducive to romance. It plays a much larger role in adolescent courtship, which is unspeakably crude.

My anger passed after too long a time spent on it. That bastard isn’t worth it. He’s more worthy of prayers that he will change his tendency toward verbal cruelty before it catches up to him. I learned long ago, every insult, every slight, every cruel thought matters. You suffer more than your marks do; your evil builds up inside your heart and turns it forever dark. After a while you can’t do anything good. People get sick of it. They remember who you were and hate what you’ve become. You don’t want to end up like that. I’ve known people like that. They die lonely. Sometimes not by natural causes.

Don’t find out the hard way that God or karma can do things to you that you have earned for yourself. As with all things, a bill comes due, and sometimes the payment is more than you can handle.

Or bear.

Few will weep for you.

Anger, too, is a corrosive; all negative thoughts must exist as energy, and the longer you let it hold you in its power, the more damage you take. It’s true. I’ve lived like that.

Words really do hurt. What I got out of it all was the reinforcement that words really,  really hurt. They can also lead to absolutely tragic events. In less than three seconds, I knew three ways to kill both men quickly and with little effort. If not so well known in the area, I suppose one of those ways could have finished with my escape and a level of shock enough to confuse witnesses.

Use words a bit more carefully. A “good afternoon” in passing can cure another’s heartache for hours.

Yet one cruel remark? That’s forever.

One Time, I Helped A Neighbor Change A Tire…

People are travelling for the Christmas holiday. They do this against the advice of experts, doctors and their local officials. They are lonely and don’t want to be lonely on Christmas. After being lonely for most of this year, I understand the feeling. It can be a sad thing to feel like you’re alone. Sometimes people who are alone hurt themselves and I understand that too, because I’ve done things to hurt myself. Bad things, bad enough to die. I don’t like it when people feel so alone and sad that they hurt themselves, sometimes not ever living another day because of it. It’s sad and I can’t help. That’s another bad feeling. Being unable to help someone who is in danger. Who just needs someone to make them see that they’re priceless and can’t be replaced.

But there have been times, too few, I fear, when I did help someone. Sometimes we help but we don’t know what happens after that. Sometimes I think about them, and I hope they’re okay. I hope that they are happy.

What really does happen after we’ve helped another person?

Only they and God can know that. We don’t. All we get is the feeling, which never seems to last long enough, a feeling that feels nice. It comes from neurotransmitters that hook up with things called “receptors” in our brains. These cells get to soak in dopamine and serotonin and give almost a “high” of goodness. Better than any drug, at least to me.

One day in early 1981, a neighbor in the apartment next to mine was trying to change a tire, and I felt sorry for her. She obviously needed help. So I changed the flat for her spare, put away the jack and lug wrench and she thanked me and I hurried back inside.

Because I wasn’t really as nice as I should have been. She was not pretty but we were both single and I didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.

Sometimes, at night, I used to hear her crying. She must have been very lonely. I felt sympathy for her. But I avoided her.

A kind word, a simple greeting, could have helped to make her feel better, but I didn’t want to do those things. Looking back, it shames me. Maybe I always felt ashamed because that was a long time ago, but I can’t forget that. I hope she found someone to love who would love her back. I hope she’s still out there, that she’s happy and healthy.

I’ve never really regretted being nice to or for helping someone. I’ve very often regretted turning my back on someone in need. Or being very mean to others. That wasn’t part of my soul. It was because I was hurt and I was very sick. My help had meant nothing.

One time I was in my father’s dispatch room routing deliveries. It was very early. A young man came in from the parking lot with flowers in one hand. He began to speak with a lisp and asked if anyone would like to buy flowers. At the time, Moonies were still around and that means he could have been in a cult. I didn’t like Moonies or their leader, a fake “reverend”, and I was mad that he was in there. I was also a conservative and had a problem with the stereotypical mincing, lisping man who must have gotten up very early to try to sell flowers just so he could eat. I yelled at him, “Get the fuck out of here!”

He was shocked, probably as much at the implied violence in my tone as by what I said. He stammered, frozen. I stood up and walked toward him and this time shouted something even worse. The truck drivers were also shocked. It wasn’t the me they knew. It scared them. When the young man fled through the door a couple of them asked weakly, “Why’d you do that, Mike?”

I said something about the guy that was so awful that I’m not going to say what it was.

To this day I regret the words. It would have taken seconds to hand him some currency and take a flower. But my hatred and bigotry prevented it. I gave full control to that hatred and bigotry and it haunts me still.

One time I saw an older black man outside the supermarket just opposite a liquor store. He asked for some spare cash. I could see in his face–on his face–why he had asked. He needed a drink or he was going to drop. If he made it to the hospital alive, I knew they would give him small doses of liquor. If he didn’t get it he could die.

I did not judge him for being an alcoholic. Or black. Or asking for what he needed. I gave him fifteen dollars, which came close to cleaning me out, but it was plenty for a pint. I never saw him again but I remember the tears of gratitude in his eyes as he thanked me and said, “God bless you.”

I’ll never forget it. That…was a good day for me. Did I help him to live another day? Probably. But he wouldn’t live much longer and I knew it. That hurts. He was a good man, I could tell. He was just as nice to me before he got the money as he was after. I recognize gratitude when I see it.

One day I ate a meal in McDonald’s and was going toward the trash can on my way out. A woman with a child beside her came in, and of all the people in the lobby, she walked straight to me. She had even more kids in the car as well as an elderly man. I believed that they lived in that car. She asked if I could help feed her kids. I had no cash but told her to order what she needed. It was strange. She ordered a lot of food. The total cost was 19 dollars and change and I swiped my card. I left but as I turned around she said “thank you” but returned her gaze quickly to the people getting the order together. She was starving. I had gladly helped, but I oftentimes have thought about her. I put a band-aid on a gash and felt good about it. I don’t feel very good about it now. I hope she got help. I hope they have a roof over their heads, pillows to lay their heads on, and full stomachs.

The misery in this world can swallow you alive. And I’m very grateful for the people who taught me these many years that cruelty is evil, compassion divine, and all we have to do to learn the difference is to make mistakes, usually emotional ones. Mistakes that haunt me helped to keep me from turning into a monster; which is what I once was becoming. I’d been so unloved, so demeaned and so violated that I began to fear everything, hate everyone and I had no idea why I felt so much awfulness all the time.

But feeling worse when I hurt someone never left me. And sometimes good people crossed my path and taught me how satisfying it was to be treated with kindness, liked for who I was in times that I needed it most. God knew that I was hurt. He knew how angry I was. How sick I was. He never reached down from heaven and cured me, but he gave me the miracle of being able to learn in spite of the things standing in my way. To learn what to do with the better part of ourselves is a true miracle, a gift. The kind of gift we can share with each other.

One very important way we can do that is to not travel this Christmas. Stay at home, do video calls, and avoid putting family and friends at risk for Covid. It will hurt you for the rest of your life if one of them died and you think you may be the one who made them sick. Ask yourself if it’s really worth the risk when you could wait and everyone can celebrate next year, happy, healthy and whole. Ask your higher power what’s right.

I love and appreciate my followers and my friends. This morning I got to help some of my friends work through a problem. Maggie had her phone freeze on her and didn’t know what to do. I texted her daughter while she used Messenger on her tablet. I merely acted as a go-between but it was very touching to see this family of three come together to solve a problem. They are truly a close family and I’m so blessed to know them. They live in New York but are all far apart. Even if they weren’t, they will not be getting together on Christmas. As a close family I can see that this makes them very sad. But they love each other so much that they refuse to put each other at risk.

That’s love.

That’s caring and compassion.

That’s sacrifice.

They set examples for me even when they don’t know it. They are some of the people who shaped what I am and made me think back on mistakes and learn from them. Every day I learn from them. Every day I love them more.

Be a family like their family.

Stay safe, and may God be with you in your lonely times.