The Grudge

One of my favorite parts of the movie "Diner," is where the guys are coming out of the movie theater when Tim Daley goes up and punches some guy seemingly out of the blue. Then his friends see who it was...Willard Bruxton(!), the last of a baseball team that had beaten up Daley's character as a kid and to whom he had sworn revenge. Even as he's a late-2o-something who's dealing with much more adult issues, he still settles the score with this childhood foe, standing over him and saying, "Now we're even." Is it immature and foolish? Sure, but it's so true. Though it's not necessarily a man thing, I think a lot of us guys have one or two people we'd still like to clock if we could. I know I do, and I'm not even a fighter. Far from it.

I hadn't thought about the guy in years when the other night as I tried to sleep, my mind in its own roundabout way led me back to this son of a bitch. His name was Brian and he was a counselor at the YMCA where I went to summer day camp. I had this friend named Ryan that I had known since pre-school. I was more quiet and shy than most of the kids and I think I was definitely a little clingy in regards to Ryan. He was actually kind of a little shit too now that I think about it, but only in a little kid kind of way, nothing serious. Anywho, we were in a church gymnasium that day, complete with carpeted basketball court, and I must have been following my friend Ryan around. He didn't like this I guess so he went and told Counselor Brian that I was following him. Before I describe what happened next, let me tell you about Brian. He was like a punk-rock, losery kind of guy. Not a guy who had this job because he enjoyed or worked well with children. I'm pretty sure he was there because he was involved with another one of the counselors. Half his head was buzzed short with the other half long, bleached and spiked out to its fullest. He wore studded bracelets and had a small voice he used to grumble out sentences with. In other words, to us 9-year-olds, he was really really cool. So there we were, Ryan, Brian, and I, with some other kids in the periphery, absorbing Brian's cool detachment when Brian hears Ryan's complaint (I should have changed one of their names). His deft, professional reply?

"Leave him alone, Fat Boy."

Motherfuckinweaselworthlesspieceofshit. I retreated to the least populated area of the gym, embarrassed like no other, emotionally devastated. I was a sensitive little guy with a complex about my weight. Hearing those words from an authority figure, albeit a dipshit version of one, and in front of all the other kids...it was rough. I told my mom about it, but I wouldn't let her call to complain, luckily for Brian.

Now I know what you might be thinking...Sure, that sucked, but grow up, get over it. And I have, I assure you. I haven't wasted a moment of my life thinking about it or fretting over it (with the obvious exception of this post, but, hey, I was gonna write something anyway). Not to mention, I am a big believer in the old adage, "The best revenge is a life well-lived." This is just one of those Willard Bruxton things, ya know?

I will go on whistling a happy tune, but Punker Brian, formerly of the Lakewood-Weingart Family YMCA, just know that should I ever see you in a crowd outside a movie theater, you are going down, buddy.

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YOU MAKE THE CALL:

Is it acceptable to talk somewhat loudly or on one's cell phone, or both simultaneously, while in a book store?

You know my answer. No. Friggin. Way. True, it's not a library and I'm not saying it should be dead silent. They've got the cafe with the whistling milk steamers and the jingle of the register. There's even music playing throughout the store, of course. But it's a still a merchant of books, dammit, and thus is a designated place of peace, quiet, and reflection.