jacked
so some little white boys from south minneapolis tried to jack me in my car tonight. they jumped in and tried to get me to take them to the south side. misunderstanding the situation (thinking that they'd taken me for a taxicab, which i used to drive), i told them i was already occupied. they seemed thrown off by the fact that i was nonplussed, their threatening demeanor hadn't worked on me. they got back out, but one of them stole my notebook, and then i knew what was happening.
i cried like a baby on the radio. "some guys tried to jack me on 7th and 3rd ave. they took my notebook. i'm chasing them."
i went after them. left the car running. went back and turned it off, caught up to one of them, who was trying to play it cool as though i wouldn't recognize him. the one with the notebook was a full block ahead. i had my maglight. i threatened; i postured. my notebook must have gone into the bushes at this point. it has some writing i've been working on.
here's the truly upsetting part. i caught up to the kid who had taken it. he got really absurdist on me, in a kind of ingenious way. he started accusing me of being from the suburbs. 'what the fuck, chanhassen?' had he read my mind? 'you swinging that light saber in my face. i never took anything of yours. i never touched it!' it was strange, to deny what had happened, when there was just me and him. the two of them took me on for a minute, kind of swinging at me but not really in any serious way. besides, they were small; i am big. i thought for a minute that i might have to break one or both of them very badly. i thought about lawsuits. i didn't want to. i got a text message from BS-H. i didn't have to look to know who it was from. i thought about myself as violent in her eyes. i felt incredibly sad. Did they see me rock back on my heels as I wondered, how had i grown this situation from my own simmering resentments?
Suddenly, the scene had no satisfactory ending. They kept taunting me although they were clearly beaten, as I got into the car, now flanked by Kim (250 and butch) and Fish (intimidatingly dark and wiry). The whole thing just seemed so foolish. I had nearly beaten two Eddie Haskells. Overequipped for the task of retrieving my precious arts writing, I could have killed one of them without really meaning to (or could I? many who know me would say I could not. I fear that I might.). Their father is probably an attorney. I found my notebook, picked up fallen pages. Suddenly, in the bushes, retrieving homework and dignity, I'm twelve.
but i wish i had said, "I have a Patrick Swayze movie [Road House] in the car. It has taught me things about honor and masculinity, and I am not afraid to unleash these things on you."
i cried like a baby on the radio. "some guys tried to jack me on 7th and 3rd ave. they took my notebook. i'm chasing them."
i went after them. left the car running. went back and turned it off, caught up to one of them, who was trying to play it cool as though i wouldn't recognize him. the one with the notebook was a full block ahead. i had my maglight. i threatened; i postured. my notebook must have gone into the bushes at this point. it has some writing i've been working on.
here's the truly upsetting part. i caught up to the kid who had taken it. he got really absurdist on me, in a kind of ingenious way. he started accusing me of being from the suburbs. 'what the fuck, chanhassen?' had he read my mind? 'you swinging that light saber in my face. i never took anything of yours. i never touched it!' it was strange, to deny what had happened, when there was just me and him. the two of them took me on for a minute, kind of swinging at me but not really in any serious way. besides, they were small; i am big. i thought for a minute that i might have to break one or both of them very badly. i thought about lawsuits. i didn't want to. i got a text message from BS-H. i didn't have to look to know who it was from. i thought about myself as violent in her eyes. i felt incredibly sad. Did they see me rock back on my heels as I wondered, how had i grown this situation from my own simmering resentments?
Suddenly, the scene had no satisfactory ending. They kept taunting me although they were clearly beaten, as I got into the car, now flanked by Kim (250 and butch) and Fish (intimidatingly dark and wiry). The whole thing just seemed so foolish. I had nearly beaten two Eddie Haskells. Overequipped for the task of retrieving my precious arts writing, I could have killed one of them without really meaning to (or could I? many who know me would say I could not. I fear that I might.). Their father is probably an attorney. I found my notebook, picked up fallen pages. Suddenly, in the bushes, retrieving homework and dignity, I'm twelve.
but i wish i had said, "I have a Patrick Swayze movie [Road House] in the car. It has taught me things about honor and masculinity, and I am not afraid to unleash these things on you."