May 11, 2006

  • Ever feel set-up to take some kind of a hit?


    I was in a local neighborhood bar, in a pretty rough neighborhood—half ghetto, half-redneck—the other day when I feel I fell into a well-rehearsed trap.


    I considered the girl tending bar to be a friend—we had been friends for awhile.And friendly, indeed, she was that day: downing Snakebite shots with me, teasing about how she had joined Xanga and would make an unmistakable impact with a comment on my site as soon as she located some signature profile pic to represent herself, taking my hand on an occasion, smiling at me with eye contact and more eye contact and more eye contact as she moved up and down the bar tending other customers.  There was a point when I started to indicate that I was about to leave, but she adamantly urged me to stay and have another beer.


    So I stayed.


    And then in strolled her boyfriend, taking a place at the bar beside me.

    I went to shake his hand, but he refused.  I asked: “Don’t you want to shake?”  His answer: “I only want you to quit stalking my girlfriend.”

    Of course, I was shocked and outraged by such a charge.  I had to take a stand.  I went into a warrior’s battle mode.


    Accusing someone of stalking is 1) accusing the person of a crime, 2) accusing the person of deviant activity, and 3) in this case, accusing the person of deviant sexual activity.


    Not only did I rightfully deny the charge and all its implications, I challenged “the boyfriend’s” truthfulness, intelligence, and manhood in making such a charge without being able to present any evidence whatsoever.


    I called for him to take it outside the bar and settle it like men.  He refused to respond.  I called him a stupid fucking idiot making baseless charges.He failed to respond.  I told him he didn’t even measure up to my manhood and that I could cut his balls off with a knife and hand them to him before he realized what was happening.  He didn’t respond.  I looked deep inside him.  Saw hatred.  Saw drugs.  Saw his shock and indecision in my calling him out and calling him to war.  He returned my stare for some small multitude of silent seconds, but finally broke it off.  He couldn’t stare me down.  And I believe he feared (and had good reason to fear) what he saw in my eyes, the windows to my warrior-heart.

    He just kept repeating “I want you to quit stalking my girlfriend,” as if an actor with a single line needing to nail his part in a staged scene.

    I had said enough.  And finally I told him what I wanted.  I told him I wanted him not to talk to me anymore unless he wanted to go to war. 

    And then I turned back to the bar only to hear him repeat again: “I want you to quit stalking my girlfriend.”

    “Last time,” said I.  “No more talking unless you want to go to war.”

    That’s when he turned to his girlfriend and petitioned her to tell me, in his words to her: “tell him to back off, tell him to quit stalking you, tell him how you called the cops…”

    She had nothing to say.  Nothing at all.

    In disgust at not being able to sway her to gang up on me, he left in a huff.

    A buddy of mine came up to me and said “You’re the man, not him.He’s the one who left.”

    But I wasn’t concerned with “being the man”.  I only sought clarification from her about whether she ever “called the cops” on me.  For if so, I would have desperately wanted to know why, for god’s sake, for certainly that odious charge of stalking was entirely ludicrous and baseless.  She said that she hadn’t, that there was only “some talk”.  But I supposed it was the same talk I had just witnessed: the boyfriend trying to cajole her into stabbing me in the back.

    I felt reassured at the time that it was just her boyfriend who had flipped out.I left in a good mood, saying good night to her and other patrons.

    Next day, I got an email from her:

    “A lot was said last night and you should know I did have people check my house for cameras. Some things you said creeped me out. There were a lot of strange coincidences and I was getting uncomfortable. I think it would be best if you stayed away from me.  I don't want you to come into XXXXXwhile I'm there.  I don't want anymore contact with you.”

    My response, in email, to her:

    “As you wish, of course. 


    It's just too bad you weren't more forthcoming with me - all of this could have been avoided so easily.  Funny how one moment last night you were taking my hand and talking about me recognizing you on Xanga when the moment would come, i.e., "you'll know it's me" and now this total estrangement flip to the other extreme.  Talk about creepy.  That's really creepy.


    And cameras?  Oh my god, you have got to be kidding.  Not my style.  Not in my heart or being.   I would never disrespect you (or anyone else) so.  If you have a worry about surreptitious cameras or surveillance of your premises, then please stay wary for your own sake.  But you'd better look elsewhere for some other potential culprit.  I'm shocked, outraged, and disappointed that I would ever become implicated in your mind with such disgusting activity.


    I wish you well.


    Do me a favor (only if you care to) and wish everyone else 'there' well for me for I won't be returning under any circumstances.”

    Now, several days later, I have a deep psychic postmonition that her flirting attentions (the persistent, rapid, repetitive eye contact) and her insistence that I have another beer (though I was preparing to part) were premeditated to keep me there until her boyfriend showed up to make “the scene” that was pre-rehearsed by him and her as some surreal, warped-world stab at psychological domination (perhaps, first me, others down the road).

    I also feel that their “scene” went out the window when, instead of becoming some pickle in the middle, I stood my own ground prepared to do total battle for the truth and my own reputation.

    I could be wrong.  But I have a deep psychic postmonition otherwise.

    I’ve seen it before: some really cool people get warped into doing/saying strange things by the fling of a bizarre relationship.   It’s just a shame when good people cease to be real.

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