JourneyPersonal

Ab-Lounger Guy Update

Well, here's an update on my ab-flex guy. I met him on the track again, and guess what? He approached me, grinning. I took off my earphones again, expectantly.

"Hey, let me tell you something!" he beamed.

"About the ab-flex?" I asked, in case he didn't remember me.

"Ab-Lounger," he corrected me.

"Ah. OK," I said.

"It really is amazing!" he gushed.

"I know! You told me!" I smiled, trying to forestall the belly-show again.

He cocked his head. "You know where to get one?"

"TV!" See, I listen! I'm a good girl!

He smiled smugly. "No! They have them at Target and Wal-Mart now." This time I waited expectantly.

"You should get one!" he said. Up came the shirt. Poke-poke-poke in the would-be six-pack. "See!"

My friend Julie had recommended that, if I saw the guy again, to ASK him whether or not he sees me as a peer. That's not my style at all. I had already vowed I would answer "I need a butt-and-thigh flex, not an ab flex" if the situation presented itself.

But as it turned out, I didn't need to say anything. He's happy, I'm happy. What difference does it make?

And maybe I *should* get an ab lounger, eh?

Doing the Right Thing

Wheeling my basket of groceries to the truck, I had a choice to make. I’d parked on the far side of a wide, grassy verge, so I could either trundle my cart the long way around, or station the cart on the near side of the verge, and ferry the grocery bags across to the truck. I elected to trundle.

The woman next to me took the ferrying option. A young student-looking guy with a backpack approached her cart and began tentatively plucking at the bags. A sense of outrage began to rise in my chest. I looked over to the woman, but she was on it.

“Excuse me!” she shouted over to him. “Those are my groceries.” She quickly crossed the grass to claim them.

He chuckled a bit nervously. "It was pretty dumb to just leave them there. Someone's going to take them. I didn’t know whose they were," he said.

I piped up, "You did know they weren't yours, though." Sometimes I just can't keep my big mouth shut.

He was embarrassed, outraged. "It was stupid of her to leave them there! I mean, who’s going to pass up free groceries?"

"They weren’t free," I countered. "They’re hers. She was right there watching them." The woman gave me a grateful smile, wisely finished putting up her groceries and got in her car.

He shot me the finger with both his grubby, grocery-rifling hands. "She’s stupid for leaving them there! I’d be stupid to pass up free groceries!"

He jabbed the fingers at me again, stepping toward me, so I retreated behind the door of the truck, feeling unwise. But with the metal barrier between us, I shot back one last comment.

"It’s called karma. You might want to look into it." I pulled away, leaving him shouting and gesticulating.

Now, of course, I’m trying to identify the perfect thing to have said or done. The karma line wasn’t very good, and I was judgmental, made him wrong. I’ve decided Gandhi or the Dalai Lama would have said, "Do you need food that badly? Here’s some rice and a watermelon. But please ask before taking what doesn’t belong to you."

And his reaction was instructive. He kept referring to her as "stupid," meaning that he felt stupid for being caught trying to lift groceries in broad daylight. He was understandably angry that I didn't allow him to save face with his pseudo-protective "I'm helping you learn to be more careful" bullshit.

I conjecture that his family culture, like mine, valued being correct above all else. More important than being kind, or honest, or sympathetic. Not that those other values weren't taught as well - but the family game of "gotcha" on facts spoke all too loudly about what was really valued in our house.

I've got to remember that, when I'm searching for the perfect thing to say or do, I'm falling into that trap. In all cases, follow the golden rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

Yeah, right. But I am not haunted by the incident like I am about the Thundercloud gorilla. At least I did something this time.

Responsibility to Others

When you're the first one to happen upon a car accident, it's your responsibility to stop and render aid. What about when you're witnessing an incident of harassment? Simple bad behavior? What's my responsibility then?

I struggle with this. I am haunted by a memory of a busy Thursday lunchtime in Austin, at Thundercloud Subs - a hippie-type sandwich joint. I was waiting to order my avocado and provolone, when the happy susurrus of lunch chat was suddenly rent by a bellowed challenge.

"Who's the ASSHOLE who parked on top of my FUCKING BIKE? Who's the FUCKING ASSHOLE with the PIECE OF SHIT red Taurus? Get over here NOW so I can kick your FUCKING ASS!!!"

The threat issued from a large, scuffed leather-clad guy in a bandanna. The forty-some-odd diners were still, silenced, waiting. Including me. The guy's rage was indescribable - a red, ragged explosion that sent icy fear through my arms and an oppressive expectation pressured my ears and head, causing a faint ringing.

I've been over the event in my mind a million times. My thoughts:

#1 - Who's keeping us safe, here? Is there a cop? A security guard? At least the manager should step up.

#2 - Who's going to help? That guy looks big, and he's got two buddies with him. Will he step up?

#3 - Oh my God - am *I* supposed to step up? If I do, will these people back me? This is a cool hangout; surely I'm not the only one thinking this.

A scrubbed, sweet-looking yuppie couple tentatively stepped forward. The guy said, "That sounds like my girlfriend's car. What's the problem?"

The gorilla crowded in on him, arcing his fists at his sides in a "give me a reason to smash your face" way. "I'll tell you the problem, ASSHOLE - your BITCH parked on top of my FUCKING BIKE. What the FUCK are you gonna do about it?!!"

At this point, I was desperate for someone to intervene. I bounced on the balls of my feet, thinking, "I've got to step in here and say something, cool the situation down. Back these people up." But I was too afraid to.

Luckily, the Taurus woman's boyfriend kept his head, submitted to the gorilla, and the three of them went out to move the car. It was apparent that the biker wasn't really blocked in - just spoiling for a fight. And whatever rush he got frightening all of us seemed to do the trick, pacify him.

When the couple left, I expected a buzz of reaction, but there wasn't one. Everyone remained cowed. I made it a point of talking loudly about it to the manager, which did start people talking at last. "I wish I knew what to do in that type of situation," I said.

"I know, right?" the manager said. "I was about to call the cops."

"Why didn't you?" I wanted to know.

"It was already over, anyway. What are they going to do, arrest him for yelling?"

When I write about the incident, it doesn't seem that big a deal. Nobody got hurt, or even touched. But it really, really bugs me that the gorilla was able to dominate us all, vent his anger, and get away with it. I feel it was a missed opportunity for me to behave like a contributing member of society, and let the guy know that his behavior was not OK. I search my mind for the one "perfect" thing I should have said, the one that would have made the gorilla say, "Oh, OK, man. I'm sorry." Or maybe my perfect words would make the gorilla stalk out in a rage, but let the rest of the crowd know how to handle situations like that. Maybe even motivate the crowd to stand behind the couple and me and say, "Yeah! We won't take that!"

But there really is no "right" thing to say or do in that situation. Is there? The guy who submitted to the gorilla did the only sane thing - not escalating.

It still feels wrong.