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New Episode at a BBQ
About once a week during the summer and in the weeks preceding and following summer, the frau and I join her nephew, thirty years my junior, and his stoner friends for a BBQ on the shores of nearby Lake Merritt. The main appeal of this ritual for me is that neither of us has to cook or to clean up following the evening meal (we do generally bring an assortment of meats for the grill).

I like the nephew, and although his aimless course through life strikes me as more appropriate to a twentysomething than to a thirtysomething, I’m aware that the range of desirable destinations has narrowed considerably since I was his age. It’s not as though I arrived at my current cushy, if lately uncertain, berth of set purpose, after all.

The conversation of his BBQ friends, most of whom appear to be within five years on one side or another of thirty, tends not to hold my interest for very long, devoted as it is to subjects to which I’m indifferent and expressed in language devoid of discernible imagination or wit. But this could be just me being an old fart, so I will as a rule hover nearby nursing a beer, keeping an eye on Ravi the Wonder Dog, and checking my watch.

Last night I had retired to chomp my hamburger at a nearby picnic table, there being no room at the inn. Over the course of a minute or so I became aware of a commotion at the main event. I tuned this out at first, because it was the bellowing of one of the established loudmouths, a gangsta wannabee given to bombastic posturing. At the third repetition of “I’ll make you my bitch, motherfucker” (not very far from the routine proclamations of this lout), I caught something in the tone that put me in mind of the timbre in a dog’s threat display when you realize that it’s no longer his “play growl,” so I ambled over to investigate.

The lout—maybe five-foot-eight, two hundred sixty pounds, built like a bull (or at least like a steer) and drunk enough to be belligerent, had decided that L’s nephew had “disrespected” the USAF hat, formerly the property of a cherished family friend, that he, the lout, was wearing, and wanted to settle things mano-a-drunko. My wife was already attempting to intervene, and the lout shoved her away with one hand, the other around the nephew’s throat. And what did I then do, my auditors and only friends? Hell, I stepped up to the plate: grabbed the guy’s arms from behind and briefly pinned them, whereupon he stooped, lifted me off my feet, and carried me piggyback for a few drunken steps, long enough for the nephew to put some distance between them. I wish I could have seen it: must have been a comic spectacle.

He freed himself from my grip; I rushed round to interpose myself between him and the target of his wrath:

“Don’t do it.”
“Get out of my way, old man!”
“Don’t do it.”
“This isn’t your fight!”
“He’s my nephew.” (OK, not strictly speaking, but according to common usage)
“I’ll put you on the fucking ground, old man!”
“Maybe. But then I guarantee you spend the next week in jail.”
“I don’t care! I’ve been in jail! Fuck you!”

I had the advantage of having consumed just a single can of beer at this point, so my R-cortex remained disengaged, and I felt no need to engage in competitive dick-swinging. “Stay away from him,” I said. “It doesn’t matter how pissed off you are, you don’t get to fuck with my family while I’m here. You’d do the same for your people.” This proposition engaged what remained of his reasoning ability, and distracted him from his immediate purpose. I was able to lead him away and talk him down. He grew maudlin about the former owner of the Air Force headgear. “What was his rank?” I asked. “I dunno, man. High. He rose high.” “You think he rose that high without self-discipline? Self control? How do you think he’d feel about you tonight?”

I’m pleased to report that this crude psychology did the trick. I persuaded the nephew to consent to a handshake (reluctantly, since he was sore about the lout having ripped a cherished old shirt to shreds in the course of the original assault) for the sake of notional and strictly temporary amity. It’s about the end of BBQ season, which nephew organizes and hosts. I suspect that the lout will fall off the mailing list next year.

cordially,
New yay but
Shoulda rabbit punched the fucker in the kidneys until he pissed blood. Sorry, I've been in jail too, and don't react well to drunken bravado.

New Wouldn't have accomplished much...
apart from pissing blood, doncha think? And what's the use there? I mean, a form of reason calmed the guy down without recourse to police or paramedics, no?

cordially,
New Wishful/possible
Either way would have ended the situation. Part of me is thinking about what he learned from it. You'd like to think he learned (from your choice) that the world isn't about who's toughest and he doesn't need to act that way. I doubt it, that's a new worldview.

The pissing blood option would have reinforced his worldview - which wasn't going to change anyway - but maybe he would have learned that he's not the biggest dick at the sausagefest and adopted a more Beta outlook (to mix metaphors).
--

Drew
New you say it like it is a bad thing
When you calm down a bully it is for the moment. Next time he gets drunk, he'll act the same way. But if you cripple him, it may preclude that type of behavior forever.
New that's assuming that I would have prevailed...
...in a physical set-to. I wasn't concerned about his future conduct. I just wanted him to calm down that moment.

cordially,
New good point
I'm just doing after the act rationalizing. On the other hand, by working through the scenarios, we can be better prepared for the next time it happens. And there is always a next asshole to deal with. Kick his knee, sideways, then start slamming kidneys.
New knees are ok but
remember the order
eyes so he cant see you
throat so he cant call for help
balls so he curls into one
then fuck him up
Any opinions expressed by me are mine alone, posted from my home computer, on my own time as a free American and do not reflect the opinions of any person or company that I have had professional relations with in the past 59 years. meep
     Episode at a BBQ - (rcareaga) - (7)
         yay but - (crazy) - (6)
             Wouldn't have accomplished much... - (rcareaga) - (5)
                 Wishful/possible - (drook)
                 you say it like it is a bad thing - (crazy) - (3)
                     that's assuming that I would have prevailed... - (rcareaga) - (2)
                         good point - (crazy) - (1)
                             knees are ok but - (boxley)

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