Pity the Fool who Messes with Me
Posted: Wednesday, July 27, 2011
by Dianne Lehmann
Artisan Jewelry from SyZyGy
When I was very young (between the ages of about 6 and 10), I thought I was very tough. As I grew older, I recognized that it was mostly due to the condescension of those kids who were much older than me. They'd push me around and I'd push back. Often they would fall to the ground or feign being hurt. I would wander off victorious and they would have a good laugh behind my back. In some ways I think they thought it was cute, me being so small and all. I'm still small physically, but not so much emotionally.
Over the years, I came to realize that much of a person's toughness isn't physical. I found that toughness embodies resilience and perseverance and patience more than how hard a fist you could make. Knowing how to throw an effective punch didn't hurt, however. And along with that, my dad made sure I knew how to run properly. Later on I turned that into a pretty successful career as a sprinter in high school despite my short stature. In the meantime, it got me out of some nasty scrapes and the rather painful attentions of one six year old would be suitor who thought punching me in the stomach was an appropriate show of his affection.
In reality, I've never been all that tough. Despite my dad's best efforts, I remained an emotional child who got angry, cried, despaired, laughed and bounced up and down with joy at the slightest provocation. Everything affected me in a huge way and I was no good whatsoever at putting up a tough front. I'm still not tough. I cry at Hallmark commercials on the television. Well, I used to anyway. Mostly, these days, we record what we watch and fast-forward through the commercials. But …
I've had my moments. Mostly they come when I think that I or someone dear to me is being mistreated. And that someone doesn't have to be human. Then pity the fool who tries to mess with me.
There was the time when a man with a truck and a boat was at the gas station on a busy holiday weekend. There was a pump behind his boat that was free when I pulled into the station even though people were lined up seven and eight deep at all the other pumps. I pulled right up to it thinking how lucky I was.
He was huge. More than a foot taller than me and probably weighed more than twice as much as I did. He was wearing work boots, jeans and a plaid flannel shirt. He had a full beard and hard little eyes.
At that time you couldn't pay at the pump. You had to go to the cashier. I had parked at the pump behind his boat and walked to the cashier. He came up behind me and told the cashier that was his pump and not to take my money. She was all set to do as he asked. I had to guess that he'd done this several times already. I turned around, looked him up and down, turned back to the cashier and gave her my twenty dollar bill. I told her very calmly and assertively (a Jedi Knight ain't got nothin' on me) that she should take my money and put it on pump number six. He was livid and actually threatened the cashier, waving his fist in front of her window as I walked away. But she did as I asked anyway.
As I was inserting the nozzle into my tank's filler, he came and confronted me. Standing very closely and virtually leaning over me he told me that it was his pump. I told him his truck was already hooked up to a pump and that it could not possibly be his in any case because it belonged to the owner of the gas station. He looked at me like I was nuts. Then he said that when he was finished filling his truck, he was going to fill his boat. I told him he should just pull forward in that case. Again, he looked at me like I was nuts. I should mention that there were only two pumps in line at each island.
He just got angrier and angrier and I don't remember all of what was said but I finally said to him (I hadn't actually started the flow of gasoline yet) that if he would just let me fill my tank, I'd be on my way and that if he hadn't been harassing me, I could have done that already. I think his spit starting flying at that point.
When I finally finished fueling, got my change (yes, this was quite some time ago; the cashier gave me a small smile and a thumbs up) and got into my car and started the engine, he had gotten into his truck and started it up. But instead of moving forward, he moved backward and I had to quickly back out of his way. Luckily, most everyone had witnessed the altercation and no one had pulled in behind me. I honestly think he would have run his boat trailer into the front of my car if I hadn't moved.
Later, I wondered what had made me stand up to a man who had intimidated so many others before me. I still don't know, but I've had other altercations where I've stood my ground since then (as far as I know there is no Irish in me but that doesn't rule out ire as a reason). Mostly the other person has ended up looking like a fool as a result (the not mostly option is not nearly so much fun to remember). I guess I'm just lucky no one's pulled a gun on me and shot me dead out of anger and frustration. Well there was that one big mess I got into that I wrote about recently. The upshot is, I'm not as tough as Mr. T and I will never be. And vengeance just isn't my cup of tea (although, I might fantasize about it now and then). Nevertheless, I can step up when necessary (although it's not my preferred position) and this one is for the SearchWarp A-Team.
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Top-level comments on this article: (2 total)I laughed out loud picturing the face-off. You're right, these days you must be careful, you never know what kind of person you're really dealing with, but then neither do they I suppose. :) Thanks for the chuckle. I"m sure your dad was quite happy with his girls.Hi Brianna.
Mom told me once that after Dad figured out he wouldn't break us, he was much happier. :)
I bet the face-off did look pretty funny with him so big and me so small.
Glad I could give you a chuckle!
Hugs,
Dianne
Dianne, a provocative title. And let me be original, "It's not the size of the dog in the fight but rather the fight in the dog." Courage, determination and a sense of right and wrong doesn't come in sizes. Enjoyed the read and if I declared an insurrection, I'd want you to lead the pack. JohnHi John.
I'm afraid that the article didn't quite live up to the promise of the title. When I first conceived the story, I should have made notes rather than relying on my aged memory. :)
I like the quote you noted. It's a good one!
You know, John, I'm not really the leader type. But if you declared one, I'd probably be good support. :)
Thanks for reading and I'm glad you enjoyed it.
Hugs,
Dianne
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