So I am standing outside on the balcony of the apartment a couple hours ago, just doing what I do best and peering in other people’s windows when a prime example of jackassness occurred before my eyes. I have a woman who lives downstairs and who isn’t of an unattractive countenance and I could perceive that she probably does in all likelihood get some attention from the opposite sex. She also has a child, of which age I am not aware, but young enough to be pushed around in a stroller. So there she was leaving her apartment and walking towards the alley to get to the adjacent street.
Now the alley behind our apartment complex has become a little complex itself. By this I mean, for whatever reason, it has turned into a busy thoroughfare for both those that drive, those that bike, and those that walk. The alley isn’t overly spacious neither, which is an important attribute to consider, especially when one witnesses the speed of which people use it for light avoidance or some other unknown cause. The speed of some of the drivers makes me nervous, for there are children around and people walking about on occasion, if not quite frequently.
Taking this into account, our subject is pushing her child in the stroller towards the street when some jack ass pulled into the alley and apparently caught glimpse of her. I know this because he continued looking back at her and grinning like a pervert with a nose full of coke. It was creepy. At any rate, to impress her or something he floored it in his black IROC and flew down the alley smiling her the whole time. My reaction? Well, dumb ass, that probably really impressed her, especially with her pushing her baby in a stroller and suggesting to her mind that one day she might be put in a situation where she is in danger of jack asses like you.
Alas, I cannot tell you, unfortunately, that in my past I have not behaved in such a way. Of course, I have learned from it, and did so from one inspired instance of my own doucheness. Way back in those days of being in the final years of my teenage era, I was driving a K5 Blazer. It was definitely a nice truck, and I loved bombing around in it with all my friends in the back. All two of them. However, sometimes I would pick up a transient to not feel so lonely. At any rate, I was alone and was at a three way stop by my house. I came to the stop and looked to the right through the rain and fog to these two girls in their car looking at me. Probably because I was singing to myself along with the radio more so than any attraction.
So being the moron I was, and still am, but in different ways, I thought I would impress them. Yet, it was pouring rain, and what in reality did I expect? Them to chase me down? Ask me out for a Danish or pretzel? Surely not! Yet, I came around the corner and floored it, spinning my tires. The Blazer went wildly out of control and instead of seeing a calm, collected bad ass in a K5, they saw a screaming, panic stricken, flailing individual with wide teary eyes, his life flashing before him, and heading straight for a telephone pole. I somehow got my truck back and steady on the roadway realizing I just made an ass out of myself. They must have got quite the laugh out of it while I went home and cried steadily for twenty minutes. After that I took a nap.
Let’s be truthful though. There are those women who recognize this trait in men, to be idiots, and try and use it to their advantage. I have learned from this also. Not by any specific instance, but you spend enough money at bars and you come to catch on. So it was in one instance I had a prime opportunity. While standing at the bar and leaving to go sit with friends I was approached by two women.
“Excuse me,” one of them said.
“Yes?” I replied thinking that if these women came up to talk to me my fly must have been down or something.
“We were wondering … you see, me and my friend are really cute, would you buy us I drink? We don’t have any money.” They said without any subtlety in message or tone.
Now, truthfully I am not an ass, most of the time, but this was such a prime opportunity to knock their pride down a couple pegs, that I just couldn’t pass it up. A plan quickly developed in my head.
“Sure,” I told them, “but you see I tend to drink too much myself, so my friend holds my wallet for me and gives me my cash as needed so I don’t overdo it. However, I will go get some and come by you two a couple drinks.”
They were certainly pleased with themselves as I walked back to my friends sitting in a booth within the VIP. It was great to watch them from that vantage point and I was surprised they waited for about ten minutes, getting all frustrated, and probably cursing me, until they decided to go seek other prey.
It’s not just drinks where I have had this happen. Also at the jukebox. One time during my own personal jack ass phase, I was at a bar having a few drinks when I decided to play some music. I played a couple songs and my selections played and it was over. Getting some smaller bills from the bartender I decided to go play a couple more, and as I stood at the jukebox a woman approached me.
“Yeah,” she said without introducing herself, “could you play me a song please?”
She asked really nicely and since I was in a good mood I gave my approval and asked what she wanted to hear. She said the name of the song, which I have long since forgotten, though the genre was rap, and she quickly added that she was tired of my music because it, “sucked.”
I was a little pissed and went over to the bar to get a shot. What pissed me off even more was that she after about a minute came back with money and picked songs out of the machine herself. A plan quickly developed in my head. If anyone is familiar with tavern jukeboxes, especially the touch screen variety, you know they are not only expensive, but there is a more expensive option on them. That if someone plays a song or group of songs, for extra money, you can skip your songs to be next played in the queue. So, in short, your songs play before theirs, even though they chose theirs before you. This however is a pricey option. I paid it.
I grabbed a twenty I had and fed it into the machine and picked the most Celtic music, Enya and boy bands galore. I paid my bill and high tailed it out of there just as “Harry’s Game,” began to play.
However, in all these things I got to say I am definitely not free from being douchey from time to time. In fact, as I recount these stories, I think I would have to say, that to respond to a jack ass by being a jack ass puts you in the same category as the jack ass, and being the case, what difference is there when you juxtapose one jack ass with another jack ass, or a jack ass with yourself that you have discovered occasionally acts like a jack ass?