January 2008

"Dude. You know, you really gotta watch the things you say sometimes, because some day someone's gonna take it the wrong way and really mess you up"

If I could have a dime for every time in my life someone has said this, or some variation of the statement to me, I could buy an Olympic-size hot tub and fill it up with the finest brand of Champagne. I usually don't listen or think much about this statement. Because, of course, I don't give a shit about anyone or anything. They're all just normal anyway, fuck them. But on one prophetic night, this premonition came true.

Out of all of the millions of streets in New York City, there is one in particular that stands out in terms of my debauchery. Over the last two years, I have gone down this road thousands of times, each time daring Fate to fuck with me. Acting belligerent, acting stupid, and acting like I don't give a shit about anyone or anything in the world. That street is Ludlow. Well this one night in particular, Fate willingly decided to fuck back.

As I began my usual Saturday night stroll down Ludlow, something irritated me. And when I get irritated, especially when drunk, shit tends to hit the fan. I passed a guy who was with two chicks. He was the biggest douchebag I'd ever seen. Let's call him "Larry". And the chicks he was with were screaming for something. I mean if he was some rockstar or something, then I'd understand, but Larry was just some douche looking motherfucker, so I hated that they were screaming so loud because of this hack. And they were right behind me when the screaming started, which further got my blood boiling.

The first thing I screamed back at them was "Stupid buttlsuts"- a term I often use nowadays to describe such behavior. The shrill screaming would not stop. Then I just lost my cool. I turned around, and just yelled "Shuddup! SHUT THE FUCK UP!" as loud as I can. The two guys I was rolling with, "Panic" and "C-Town" just rolled their eyes and collectively braced themselves. "Oh-no here we go again" they shared in an exchange. They put up with so much of my drunken shit it's ridiculous.

Then, Larry began yelling something back at me. Presumably threatening words, I wasn't paying attention, because my NYC Mentality had long since kicked in. Let me explain. Having grown up in a city with more than 8 million people, it's so easy to think that you can give someone the finger on a subway one moment and never see them again, say "Fuck You" in a person's face on the street and never have to worry about them ever being near you again, spill a beer on someone in a crowded bar without having to worry about them retaliating, etc. The list goes on and on.

I had a bar to go to at that moment and Larry was just some assclown standing in my way. So I fucking let him have it. I raised my middle finger in the air and let it linger longer than reasonable or acceptable. At that moment, I just didn't give a shit. I began to walk very fast, my bird flipped high in the air. I heard someone running up from behind, expecting to see Panic or C-Town. But this is the one night when the laws of physics came around, for the Law of NYC Mentality did not serve its purpose.

Out of absolutely nowhere, BOOM! I was body slammed hard into a closed storefront. It was Larry. Unbeknownst to me, Larry was huge, and he delivered a hit that any WWE aficionado or NFL linebacker would be proud of. And against the steel storefront- DAMN! To those you who have not had the pleasure of receiving a hit like that, I would hope for your sake it stays that way. This is the one time in my life when the prophecy had come true- someone had taken my actions the wrong way and here I was.

Pinned against a storefront as Larry tried to grab me in a chokehold, much like the wrestler Kane used to do. He succeeded to some degree, as I began to lose my breath while I struggled mightily to break free. Miraculously, I escaped his grasp and had enough jets in my legs to reach the nearest bar and safety. "Yeah you better run, motherfucker" Larry screamed as I sprinted down Ludlow with a vitriol that can only come out with the threat of getting my ass whupped by a huge dude.

But as lucky as I was, Larry was not nearly done with me. Panic and C-Town, who were both lagging behind, had overheard his angered screams as I got away. He kept screaming that he was going to "kill that little blond bastard." OK, for one that for one gives me hope of never having to deal with his full wrath, because in fact I am not blonde, and I'm sure there are millions of dudes in NYC who look like me. Not that I would wish that wrath upon anyone else. Oh no, I'm not saying that.

Both Panic and C-Town got very worried at me, and subsequently lectured me about how I need to really watch what I say and that maybe someday someone's gonna do something far worse than he did and... whatever. I'll cross that bridge when I get to it. IF I get to it.

The night ended rather peacefully, and I have yet to have another encounter with Larry. Will I? Will Larry finally get to finish the job he started, or will the Law of NYC Mentality play its part? Only time will tell. I'll keep you updated... That is if I live to write a Part 2.

Or maybe my friends' prophecy will come true and I will meet a tragic demise because of something I said. Who knows. What I do know is that my illusion of invincibility on Ludlow has been shattered, and a street that for so long served as a bastion of anything-goes has now tainted its reputation in my eyes. But does that mean I'm not going to keep going down there and torturing its weekend crowd? Hell no.

And does this mean I'm finally gonna learn my lesson and stop blurting out inappropriate, weird, awkward, insulting, and random comments? In all likelihood, eh probably not. Unfortunately for the Larrys of the world, some things may never change.