This past weekend I was having a nice time with a buddy at a show. We hadn’t seen each other or really meaningfully caught up in a long while, so we were going back and forth, filling each other in. It was really nice, and the two opening bands were interesting enough. The venue started really filling up as we waited for the headliners to come on and we kept chatting. The conversation turned to heavier topics, and we started in on about how in a crisis, it can be really easy to advocate for yourself. You become free. How, basically, when shit gets real, you sometimes have no problem at all telling people off or loudly explaining your situation to get what you need - that tendency to yell at doctors when your loved one isn’t getting adequate care. I had experienced this liberty vividly myself and wanted to share, but before I could start the anecdote I felt a splash of cold water on my face. I looked around the place, confused at first, and then saw someone throwing ice cubes from the side of the venue. I asked him to stop doing it, I said please, you’re getting water on me. I took a step closer, he threw another ice cube over my head. I asked him to stop, a bit louder. Again, another ice cube, again a step forward. Another ice cube, more water in my face, and as I took a third step forward, the man threw his entire drink directly in my face. I was shocked, and he immediately took off running.

It’s easy to justify now, why wouldn’t you, how rude, but in that moment I was not thinking rationally. I simply took off after the guy, running at a full sprint between the other concert goers. He cut through the crowd, turning right on the ramp, but I easily caught up with him, about halfway up. We were surrounded by people who looked on, not interfering, and I surprised myself by forcefully grabbing the guy by the collar of his leather jacket and fiercely twisting, arriving at the realization of what I had done long after I had done it. He immediately started squirming, but it took little to no effort to hold him in place. I looked down - I was easily twice his size, and I could see that I was lightly lifting him off the ground, his toes pointed to hold him up. I said, loudly enough for everyone around me to hear, you threw your entire drink in my face, why did you do that? He said, laughably, that wasn’t me. I said yes it was, I was looking right at you when you did it. He said I’m sorry, I’m sorry, okay? and tried to bolt away. But I held him in place and asked him again, why did you do that? He said I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it was meant for the person behind you. At this point I realized what the situation actually was - dozens of people, who more than likely did not see the inciting incident, were staring at me physically accosting this tiny guy. Were they going to call security on me? Was I about to be kicked out of a venue I had just played at, by a bouncer that I know and like a lot? And what’s more is that I was really enjoying how easy it was to dominate this person physically. I was in charge. At another time in my life this would have been impossible, when I was 60 pounds heavier I was of no threat to anyone, and certainly could never pursue on foot. So here I was, feeling all the strength of my recent weight lifting, relishing my size for once. I was in control, and more or less justified in intimidating this guy. He asked to be let go. I paused, I looked around, I looked in his expectant eyes. I said I think you have to apologize again. He said I’m sorry, quieter this time, almost a whisper, and my grip relaxed. He scurried off.

This is what I wanted to tell my friend, before that drink was thrown:

Last summer, the day after we lost her, I spent the afternoon at her apartment. It was surreal and terrible and comforting all at once to be in her space, to see the physical world she left there. We smoked some weed, if I recall correctly, a fitting tribute, and tried to be a comfort to each other. It was a quiet, crying afternoon. After a while we decided to leave the place, I don’t remember why. But as we were descending the staircase a man shouted at us. Hey, hey, he said. Do you know the family? We said yes, who are you? We thought maybe he was a mourner, a family friend. He said well actually I’m a reporter I’m with the new york daily news and I’m looking to speak to someone from the family, they won't answer my phone calls and no one will make a statement. Not knowing what to do and frankly in shock, we told him sorry man, we don’t know the family really, we don’t have their contact info. We started walking away. We looked back and noticed that the guy was just standing there. In fact he was staking out the place. I realized that he would probably confront anyone who came down those stairs or pulled up in a car. I started getting angry. How fucking dare he. Having just left her roommate alone I feared what that fucked up experience might do to her, so I called her. I said hey there’s a reporter here, do you want me to tell him to fuck off? And she said yes, absolutely, would you please.

I told my two friends, okay, let’s tell him to fuck off. But we are not intimidating people. Though they’re tall and I’d say the three of us are “surprisingly athletic,” we are of a gentle temperament and all like acoustic guitar music. But in that moment, having been given the absolute green light to tell this reporter to scram, I mustered every ounce of deadly serious energy I could in the cutoff t-shirt I was wearing, and the three of us walked with as much intention as we could directly towards him, neon “fuck you” halos hovering above our heads, like vanquishing angels. He was in the middle of a phone call and, as I experienced this past weekend, I found myself perversely enjoying the scared hiccup in his voice as he said, “hey oh shit listen I gotta go I gotta GO BYE.” We said, seriously, you have to get out of here. Pause. He hardened, actually no I don’t have to go anywhere, I’m a reporter. I said something like, no you do have to go, we’re telling you to leave the block, and we better not see you here again. He said what will happen if you do, are you threatening me? And I said you don’t want to find out, psychically transmitting a fantasy of suplexing him onto the sidewalk. He hesitated for a moment, then turned away. We watched him go. About an hour later we circled past the house, ready to sprint towards him if we happened to see him again. He had disappeared, and part of me enjoyed having convinced him to fuck off. There was a freedom granted us amid that tragedy and this reporter - who I see now as earnestly just trying to do his job, however slimy it felt at the time - happened to be the recipient of all the channeled rage I felt at that moment. All my helplessness, all my sense of injustice, all my powerlessness, turned into those vaguely threatening, cartoony words. It was the first thing I enjoyed that week. And I truly don’t know what ugly thing I would’ve done if we had seen him again - I’m glad I didn’t have to find out.

Back at the venue, eventually my friend and I, with ice cube wetted hair, stood next to the guy who the launched drink was actually intended for. And it turns out he was a huge asshole. Some minutes before the inciting incident, according to the asshole’s friend, the asshole had, without asking, flipped up the guy’s leather jacket and aggressively patted him on the shoulders, saying now you look cool (poetically after that I grabbed the drink thrower much more aggressively by the collar). Plus everyone kept shushing him during the headliner’s set, he was loudly and aggressively talking about how his one coworker kept doing too much xanax. After a few minutes of conversation with the asshole I changed my mind entirely and started to think the drink thrower was right, it’s just that his aim was bad. Maybe I shouldn’t have grabbed him.

Do you enjoy a show of force when you believe you’re in the right? And can you ever know? Do you, like me, fear becoming a jock, having started working out all the time after a lifetime of being a nerd? Do you fantasize about stuffing people in trash cans in your smaller moments?