Have you ever noticed how some people like to tell you that they are intimidating or that you better not piss them off because all hell will break loose. I suspect that I am probably guilty of saying these things once or twice myself, but that is beside the point. Or maybe above it or below.
Anytime I hear something like that my natural inclination is to try and find out if it is true. When it comes to intimidation I am truly not easily intimidated. From a size perspective I have a very large frame and spent many years working out. I am a little softer around the middle now, but not enough to prevent most people from noticing my shoulders and back first. Speaking of which, as I age the hair on my head has been moving from the skull to my back, chest and shoulders. Not only that, but it is recruiting friends and family. I wear a size 12 EEE shoe, so if this hair things keeps up I may have to watch out at the zoo because they’ll think that a gorilla or bigfoot has escaped.
And as I understand it, there are already bloggers from the Monkey Cage.
But size is not the only thing that serves to help prevent intimidation, there is also attitude, confidence and the stupid gene that makes me forget that in addition to kryptonite, guns, knives, bombs, dairy products and cauliflower can all hurt me.
The real thing about intidimation is that it is 98% mental. If you ask my friends they’ll tell you that I am completely mental, AKA 100%. And that additional 2% makes a huge difference.
And then there is the whole thing about “all hell breaking loose.” If you tell me that if I piss you off all hell will break loose I’ll ask to see Lucifer. I am an admitted button pusher and recovering gadfly. I really try hard not to be, no really I do. Ok, sometimes I do and sometimes I am just so curious to see what happens when the volcano erupts. Will your head look like one of those cartoons where you turn purple and steam blows out? I am sure that sooner or later I’ll actually see that.
The good news is that as I age I take less and less interest in these types of interactions. Now I am not sure if any of this is of particular interest or even meaningful, but I thought that I’d share it with you and a brief tale of dealing with a crazy person who tried to intimidate me.
The other day I was playing in my normal pickup basketball game. We try and play with the same guys because it is safer that way. Egos may be bruised, but no one does anything stupid, at least most of the time. On this one particular occasion at band camp there was a shortage of guys so we had to play with some of the high school kids and a big lumbering fool (BLF) we try to avoid because he sucks and has a temper.
BLF was guarding one of the high school boys and just getting eaten alive. High school boy dunked on him twice and then told him in no uncertain terms that he could do whatever he wanted. BLF snapped threw the ball at high school boy and then said “I am crazy and you have no clue what I am capable of.”
I grabbed high school boy and told him that BLF is indeed crazy and that I suggested walking away. BLF decided that I was his new target and came after me. I told BLF that when his wife found where she had stashed his manhood she should give it to him so that he didn’t have to play pedophile.
Needless to say BLF started to walk towards me so I had to take action. I told BLF. “Me, big, strong and tough,” and then I grunted. Apparently this made him more upset so he continued to advance upon me. So I whipped out one of my patented lines, the one I save for moments like this. It is complete B.S. but it usually works.
“BLF, get the hell away from me. My P.O. said that if I beat up one more person I have to go back and I am not going back for something stupid.” Again, complete nonsense, but so much of the male intimidation thing is composed of stupid nonsense there is nothing lost in adding more to it.
BLF looked at me and said “Your P.O.?” I glared at him and nodded my head. In the few minutes this took one of the other players had gotten management to come down and they made certain that BLF reconsidered his actions.
Game play resumed, but not before high school boy asked me if “P.O.” meant parole officer. I told him that I wasn’t interested in discussing it and dropped it. But it is interesting to note that high school boys and friend have had a new found respect for me lately.
Aren’t stories fun to tell.