The Great Me Robbery: Part II
Okay, new angle.
It wasnt just the confusing nature of the experience that messed with my head.
Maybe it was trying to figure out my own behavior, judging what it was I should do.
For example, once the threat level proved to be next to nil, I knew I would not be handing anything over to this kid. But why? It certainly would have expediated the situation; if I didnt need to give in for my own safety, it still would have been a lot quicker and easier. But instead I stood there arguing with the kid and staring at him dumbly.
Almost like I was waiting for him to just give up, get the clue that it wasnt going to happen. But he seemed as stubborn as I am, and I think we might just have spent the entire day there, eventually reduced to a silent stare down, motionless and mindless, until finally one broke down for need of a bathroom break.
Yeah, we both seemed pretty stubborn.
So why not make it easy; it is just stuff after all, right? And here we hit the heart of problem number two.
It is my stuff.
You see, I want to rationalize my actions (or inactions for most of the event) thusly; I was doing the Right Thing. The Right Thing being two-fold:
1) If I were to give in to the demands (suddenly Im negotiating for the release of the Lindbergh baby?), then I would be encouraging the idea that this was profitable business for the aspiring thief, the proverbial crime does pay. (Bonus points for alliteration?) Not needing to hand anything over in exchange for my safety, I certainly wouldnt want to out of laziness - a simple avoidance of the effort it would take should I have to throw a few punches to drive home the point that he would be leaving empty handed if it meant encouraging criminal activity as a career path. Knowing that I would win any fight that ensued, wouldnt it in fact be my civic duty to take any scrapes and cuts I might get in such a fight in order to at least try to push him back towards a more honest (and likely legal) path of action?
2) Im not a big guy. Physically. In fact, Im pretty small, just look at the picture (the webbed feet and flippers dont help the case much either). And this kid couldnt push me around. But lets say for the sake of laziness I just give the kid what he wants. He walks off thinking, hey, that was easy, I should do this again. And next time he picks someone a little bigger than me, and they do the same as I did. Somewhere down the line this kid is going to try it with someone who perhaps has anger management problems or maybe just a big ass knife. Somewhere down the line this kid specifically is going to get himself seriously hurt. So Im doing him a favor by at least showing him that confrontation is not his strong suit, and any future crime he tries should be when the victims are far away from their soon to be stolen property. I could be saving his life, right?
But I cant escape the fact that it is my stuff.
All this talk to myself about the Right Thing, and is the problem that honestly I didnt want to part with my private possessions?
Sure there are the things that are irreplaceable, but they are the ones of no cash value. My notebooks and journals, sketched-on sheets and cheep keepsakes, the hand-made buttons that were gifts for me one birthday. What he wants is my ipod, my wallet (cash strapped as it is). These things are not unique, they dont contain words written no where else, they dont carry meaning known to no one but me. And they are replaceable; the wallet only a collection of cards quickly cancelled and renewed, the ipod purchased with one weeks pay (and yes, I know its disgusting that I get paid that much).
So is that what I was tripped up over? Is that the flair that went up in the fog of my mind?
Was I caught up in and then caught off guard by my own sudden materialism?
For a while I tried to weigh these two sides to the story, and still havent quite reached an answer about which is the more powerful. But one thing did become clear; the motives behind my refusal to give up the goods were much simpler. Simply put:
Im really, really fucking stubborn.
So while the philosophical debate on moral v. material rages on, there is still something left to trouble me.
Why am I still so shaken?
After all, he didnt have a gun and he wasnt very strong and he wasnt really capable of hurting me.
He couldnt have hurt me.
I could have hurt him.
I wanted to hurt him.
And there it is. Like an angry little groundhog poking his head out and gnashing his teeth to show theres still a shadow in me.
Its still winter here. I wanted to hurt him.
That little voice spoke up in the back of my head. With the confusion of the moment and my cognitive power slowed by the early time of day, it didnt quite register right away. But it was there.
Calm and clear it spoke up and said we should hurt this guy.
I should hurt this guy.
Not out of anger, the voice was calm and collected. Not out of a need for self defense, defense clearly being not needed. Not out of some sense of righteous indignation, because Im not exactly sure what that even means. Not out of a belief in social justice, a harsh beating being well beyond what my beliefs would condone in this case. Not out of a faith in legal justice, the criminal justice system being far too adept at producing criminals. Not even out of a need to prove myself and my masculinity, knowing that I could already proving it (avoiding altogether here the issue of why masculinity needs to be proved at all and why always through violenceor our ability to write our names in the snow).
Calm and clear it spoke up and saidwe should hurt this guyfor the fun of it.
For the fun of it.
That was where my mind had tripped and stumbled, that is what had put things in such a state of disarray.
That was the cause of my state of shock. I had wanted to hurt him.
For the fun of it.
And the worst of it is, I knew I could get away with it. I could have left the kid, still just a kid for christs sake, beaten and bloodied, and would still be seen as the victim. I would be seen as protecting myself, all involved agreeing to the lie.
Have I been thinking this all the time? Did it come out this clear because this time I had an excuse?
How many times, how many random people, on the bus, in line for coffee, passing on the street, how many have I wanted to hurt for that reason only.
The fun of it.
And now theres nothing I can tell myself, nothing that can ever make that disappear. Theres no putting the apple back on the tree. No closing Pandoras box.
I cant not know this simple fact.
A part of me would hurt someone, for the fun of it.
Is this part natural, is it healthy, I didnt do it after all? Is it instinct, is it ingrained?
Is it who I really am?
Is everything else Ive told myself, everything Ive said I believe in, everything Ive tried to be, tried to live up to, is it all a lie? Is the person that I thought I was, that I think am, is that the shadow? Is it all just fancy packaging to hide who I really am? Am I a man who believes in the joy of malice, the reverie of hurt?
I havent so much as raised a hand at someone in almost ten years. It was to the point where I would hit you if you looked at me wrong, I would hit if you looked at me right. I would hit you if didnt look at me at all. And then I changed.
I thought I changed. I want to believe I changed.
But I cant not know that a part of who I am would hurt someone for the fun of it.
And what if this is all I am?
Im scared of heights and thats fine by me. Im scared of spiders and Ive got no mind to change that.
But I dont want to be scared of myself anymore
Im terrified. Of who I might be.
Im scared to death.
Its still winter here after all. And I just want it to end.
Okay, new angle.
It wasnt just the confusing nature of the experience that messed with my head.
Maybe it was trying to figure out my own behavior, judging what it was I should do.
For example, once the threat level proved to be next to nil, I knew I would not be handing anything over to this kid. But why? It certainly would have expediated the situation; if I didnt need to give in for my own safety, it still would have been a lot quicker and easier. But instead I stood there arguing with the kid and staring at him dumbly.
Almost like I was waiting for him to just give up, get the clue that it wasnt going to happen. But he seemed as stubborn as I am, and I think we might just have spent the entire day there, eventually reduced to a silent stare down, motionless and mindless, until finally one broke down for need of a bathroom break.
Yeah, we both seemed pretty stubborn.
So why not make it easy; it is just stuff after all, right? And here we hit the heart of problem number two.
It is my stuff.
You see, I want to rationalize my actions (or inactions for most of the event) thusly; I was doing the Right Thing. The Right Thing being two-fold:
1) If I were to give in to the demands (suddenly Im negotiating for the release of the Lindbergh baby?), then I would be encouraging the idea that this was profitable business for the aspiring thief, the proverbial crime does pay. (Bonus points for alliteration?) Not needing to hand anything over in exchange for my safety, I certainly wouldnt want to out of laziness - a simple avoidance of the effort it would take should I have to throw a few punches to drive home the point that he would be leaving empty handed if it meant encouraging criminal activity as a career path. Knowing that I would win any fight that ensued, wouldnt it in fact be my civic duty to take any scrapes and cuts I might get in such a fight in order to at least try to push him back towards a more honest (and likely legal) path of action?
2) Im not a big guy. Physically. In fact, Im pretty small, just look at the picture (the webbed feet and flippers dont help the case much either). And this kid couldnt push me around. But lets say for the sake of laziness I just give the kid what he wants. He walks off thinking, hey, that was easy, I should do this again. And next time he picks someone a little bigger than me, and they do the same as I did. Somewhere down the line this kid is going to try it with someone who perhaps has anger management problems or maybe just a big ass knife. Somewhere down the line this kid specifically is going to get himself seriously hurt. So Im doing him a favor by at least showing him that confrontation is not his strong suit, and any future crime he tries should be when the victims are far away from their soon to be stolen property. I could be saving his life, right?
But I cant escape the fact that it is my stuff.
All this talk to myself about the Right Thing, and is the problem that honestly I didnt want to part with my private possessions?
Sure there are the things that are irreplaceable, but they are the ones of no cash value. My notebooks and journals, sketched-on sheets and cheep keepsakes, the hand-made buttons that were gifts for me one birthday. What he wants is my ipod, my wallet (cash strapped as it is). These things are not unique, they dont contain words written no where else, they dont carry meaning known to no one but me. And they are replaceable; the wallet only a collection of cards quickly cancelled and renewed, the ipod purchased with one weeks pay (and yes, I know its disgusting that I get paid that much).
So is that what I was tripped up over? Is that the flair that went up in the fog of my mind?
Was I caught up in and then caught off guard by my own sudden materialism?
For a while I tried to weigh these two sides to the story, and still havent quite reached an answer about which is the more powerful. But one thing did become clear; the motives behind my refusal to give up the goods were much simpler. Simply put:
Im really, really fucking stubborn.
So while the philosophical debate on moral v. material rages on, there is still something left to trouble me.
Why am I still so shaken?
After all, he didnt have a gun and he wasnt very strong and he wasnt really capable of hurting me.
He couldnt have hurt me.
I could have hurt him.
I wanted to hurt him.
And there it is. Like an angry little groundhog poking his head out and gnashing his teeth to show theres still a shadow in me.
Its still winter here. I wanted to hurt him.
That little voice spoke up in the back of my head. With the confusion of the moment and my cognitive power slowed by the early time of day, it didnt quite register right away. But it was there.
Calm and clear it spoke up and said we should hurt this guy.
I should hurt this guy.
Not out of anger, the voice was calm and collected. Not out of a need for self defense, defense clearly being not needed. Not out of some sense of righteous indignation, because Im not exactly sure what that even means. Not out of a belief in social justice, a harsh beating being well beyond what my beliefs would condone in this case. Not out of a faith in legal justice, the criminal justice system being far too adept at producing criminals. Not even out of a need to prove myself and my masculinity, knowing that I could already proving it (avoiding altogether here the issue of why masculinity needs to be proved at all and why always through violenceor our ability to write our names in the snow).
Calm and clear it spoke up and saidwe should hurt this guyfor the fun of it.
For the fun of it.
That was where my mind had tripped and stumbled, that is what had put things in such a state of disarray.
That was the cause of my state of shock. I had wanted to hurt him.
For the fun of it.
And the worst of it is, I knew I could get away with it. I could have left the kid, still just a kid for christs sake, beaten and bloodied, and would still be seen as the victim. I would be seen as protecting myself, all involved agreeing to the lie.
Have I been thinking this all the time? Did it come out this clear because this time I had an excuse?
How many times, how many random people, on the bus, in line for coffee, passing on the street, how many have I wanted to hurt for that reason only.
The fun of it.
And now theres nothing I can tell myself, nothing that can ever make that disappear. Theres no putting the apple back on the tree. No closing Pandoras box.
I cant not know this simple fact.
A part of me would hurt someone, for the fun of it.
Is this part natural, is it healthy, I didnt do it after all? Is it instinct, is it ingrained?
Is it who I really am?
Is everything else Ive told myself, everything Ive said I believe in, everything Ive tried to be, tried to live up to, is it all a lie? Is the person that I thought I was, that I think am, is that the shadow? Is it all just fancy packaging to hide who I really am? Am I a man who believes in the joy of malice, the reverie of hurt?
I havent so much as raised a hand at someone in almost ten years. It was to the point where I would hit you if you looked at me wrong, I would hit if you looked at me right. I would hit you if didnt look at me at all. And then I changed.
I thought I changed. I want to believe I changed.
But I cant not know that a part of who I am would hurt someone for the fun of it.
And what if this is all I am?
Im scared of heights and thats fine by me. Im scared of spiders and Ive got no mind to change that.
But I dont want to be scared of myself anymore
Im terrified. Of who I might be.
Im scared to death.
Its still winter here after all. And I just want it to end.