I've done this before. I've seen more bar fights than I can remember working at a popular and huge club in downtown Montreal, called 'the Dome' at that time, for two years. The fighting patrons were always drunk. Always. After a while you get know who the instigators are and who the victims are. The victims aren't always on the wrong side of the fist. Sometimes an aggressor thinks he is much better than the person he wanted to piss on but due to a lack of proper brain processing speed combined with an increase in confidence, the aggressor misjudges and end up in his own shit-storm. The worst of the categories of drunken fighters were the Bostonian eighteen-year-olds who would borrow daddy's car and drive up to Montreal where the age limit is three years lower than their country's. They would show up to our club already hammered and just milk their beers while being loud and aggressive with almost anyone around. I call this behaviour Drunk Alpha-Male Assertiveness, or DrAMA.
Back in Kiev, I was a few drinks shy of a bottle of vodka when I realized that I am lucky to be on the other side of the wall, being happy and having a ball with everyone around. It was shaping up to be a great night with many happy experiences.
Once the neighbours left I chatted with the last of the revellers: B, Dimitri and Shawn, before feeling very tired. As I had not slept well for as long as I could remember I decided to retire to the living room and rest on the couch. I was soon dreaming great dreams when I was grabbed by the shoulder by Shawn who proceeded to shake me like a rag doll. “Come on! It's time to go!” “O.k. dude. Stop shaking me!” “Well lets go! I called a cab!” “O.k. o.k. I'm coming.” “You always do this! Trying to sleep with B, how could you?!? I told you!” he vented as we walked to the door. “Whoa man, I just passed out, relax!” “Don't tell me to relax, you were in her bed!” “WHAT?!? I passed out on the couch dude!” “Yeah, it's her bed man!” “Alright, calm down, I didn't mean anything by it-” I started to say as I was putting on my shoes. “Just go man just get out of here!” he yelled at me in front of the door. “Stop being a douche. No need to wake up the rest of the building” I said after the second shoe was on. I was facing the door, Shawn blocking the way out. “You're always doing this kind of shit!” he said as he grabbed me by the collar again with both hands. “Stop acting like such an asshole” I replied low and slow. “You're the asshole! You always do this! Women aren't pieces of meat, when are you going to understand?!?” That's when things got bad.
Shawn was trying to manhandle me. I hate it when men start trying to assert their alpha male status upon me. It's so annoying. “Stop this” I told him in a calm voice, playing my ice card on top of his fire card. I always try to fight fire with water. It's something I learned from an experienced bouncer at the Dome. The problem with this method is that it doesn't always work. Sometimes it makes the other man get crazier, especially if he knows you beforehand. In this case it just seemed proper at the time to show him that men don't need to make a scene to prove their superiority and that being loud and aggressive is silly.
He started shaking me again. “O.k. you have three seconds to let go of me before I put you through three walls Shawn, so let go.” He didn't. I started counting “Three, two-” and that's when the shit hit the fan. He pushed me backwards and away from the door as I tried to keep my footing. I must have tripped over a shoe but as I was falling my wrestling coach's training program came into effect. I twisted in mid-fall and thrust his body onto the couch by the door. We wrestled for a few seconds but with three years of high-school wrestling experience under my belt it was a futile gesture on his behalf. I pushed him onto the ground and put my knees on his shoulders, pinning him down. I pointed my finger at his face and told him to relax. “Are you done?!?!” He grunted and struggled. “Calm the fuck down and I'll get off you.” At this point, Dimitri was patting my back saying “It's over guys...” and it was.
B had appeared from the kitchen while our wrestling match was being waged. Her door was being pounded upon from the outside by the same Ukrainian man I had invited in for drinks. He was yelling at us. I apologized to him taking full responsibility as I asked somebody to look for my glasses. Dimitri handed them to me and I left the apartment, hopping down the stairs and out into the cool Ukrainian night. I felt the rush of adrenaline and endorphins streaming through my body. I started to run. I didn't understand why Shawn got all DrAMA on me, why we fought and why I was running but I did it nonetheless. My phone started ringing. “Where are you?” “Outside, I'm on my way home.” “I got us a cab, don't be silly.” “I'm not the one who was silly. You were such a douche. I'll get home alone, thanks” I replied and hung up my phone. Incidentally the earpiece was working again.
Drama. I really don't like drama... especially for the sake of drama. My whole life I was surrounded by women who loved drama. Loved it. I survived by being fake with my closest friends' friends and family. Then something really strange happened. I started to cut. I understood then and believe now that when somebody doesn't bring out good in you and instead makes you feel bad, in any way, about yourself, it is best to cut them out, no matter how hard it is. Just move on, move out, move away. But lately, I'm getting the same from more of the men I meet rather than the women. Was it a Balkan thing or am I understanding something about my nature that makes me sensitive to fake people?
I rounded a corner to stumble upon three youths drinking beers behind a concession stand of some sort, one of whom looked like he was having a hard time keeping up with the other two, his head hanging between his legs. Speaking Ukrainian wasn't necessary to communicate with this bunch, who seemed just as happy using their hands and noises common to all languages to express their thoughts to me. I told them I was a tourist and once they heard “Canada” seemed to like me much more. One of them handed me a cold beer that had a few gulps missing so I assumed it was the drunk guy's beer, who had only just been sipping on it before he sat on the curb to gather himself.
“Am I going in the right direction to get to this hostel?” I asked pulling out my iPhone to show them the map. “Hotel? Da!” one said pointing in the same direction I indicated. “Spasiba” I answered, one of the few words I picked up in Ukraine which means “thanks.” “We go!” said one of the youths, putting his upturned fists alongside his hips, executing a hip-thrusting movement while making a “Prrrrrrut prrrrrut” sound. “Um, no, I go, you stay” I replied. He was obviously a lover when he got drunk. “Niet! Niet! Hotel, prrut prrut, we go, da?” I understood that he wanted to come back to my place to either prrut prrut me and his friends or call up some ladies to prrut prrut. I started to wonder if the previously opened beer had something more sinister in it and whether his friends were lovers or haters. Stupid! Never take a drink from strange young Ukrainians on the street! I was thinking as I contemplated the gravity of the situation. “No, I sleep, no prrut prrut tonight. You stay-” “Niet, we go!” “Um, fine but I sleep, in hostel, not hotel” I answered. “Da, da...”
We headed towards the general direction I was going in before meeting these dudes and we all seemed pretty happy about it. My head was processing at light speed by this time, trying to find a way out. As we passed a nearby hotel, the boys got excited and started to indicate to me that this was the place to get some good prrut prrut. I said that I would stay here while they went inside. They headed in and I inexplicably had another urge to run that night. I took off top-speed as they entered the building, hoping that any potential drugs in my beer would burn off as I ran home.
After getting far enough away, I walked the streets of Kiev, alone, at night, fuelled by the hard alcohol of vodka and the last beer I was given. I started looking for a reason to blame myself for what happened at the party, just for the sake of understanding something about myself. I remembered the details. I looked back in time. I relived the past and reacted the same way. Being right by me and not feeling remorse is tops on my list. I acted then as I act now and would have acted the same with no second thoughts. I am either right or madder than a London hatter. Either way, I would still have had the same great experiences with none of the second thoughts. I used my energy for having a good and fun time with everyone I was with. I would have done the same then and would do the same in the future no matter what. My fire sometimes gets too hot, burning the fuel quicker than some people can handle. That's cool, I don't judge weaker- I mean, different, people. ;)
My narcissism is so much better than yours, reader.
No comments:
Post a Comment