Bullied

I had an unusual, unpleasant experience today, but it dovetails perfectly with my essay, so perhaps it was a gift from the Universe, instead of just a random dick move. I was drying off in my shower stall after showering at the gym. There was a guy showering in the stall across from mine, and he made an off-hand remark, something to the effect of “I think you’re dry now.”

It was a comment on the thoroughness of my drying-off, something I’ve been aware of for a long time, without anyone pointing it out that I can remember. (Now I’m going to parse his behavior in order to justify my anger.) I kept drying off, looking at him for clues that would reveal the spirit in which his observation was offered. He turned his back and didn’t look at me. That, combined with his deadpan delivery, convinced me he had been a dick.

As I left my stall, I said, “Thanks for the tip” in a neutral tone. Just before I left the shower room, I added “fucker.” But I don’t know if I said it loud enough for him to hear. The room has great acoustics, but he was still showering, and I used a normal speaking voice.

Hopefully, he heard me. That was my intent, although I wish I’d said it louder. But at least I actually said something this time. Usually, I’m too intimidated to say anything, and I’ll stew about it long afterward. Maybe now, at the age of 40, I’m ready to stand up for myself and not let people bully me anymore.

I was often a victim of bullying as a kid, even though I was big for my age. My sensitivity and fear of conflict left me vulnerable. Sometimes, I copied my tormentors and bullied others, but I got a lot more than I gave. I was lucky in being tall and athletic, and there was only one time when the bullying was truly scary.

This probably wouldn’t rank very high on a list of random people’s traumatic adolescent experiences. But it had a profound effect on me and still does. We all have rough times while we’re coming of age, so I shouldn’t really complain. But my grieving for this has been delayed for 22 years now, so it has curdled and been twisted into something far beyond its original import.

I was at the local McDonald’s with my 2 best friends and 3 girls from our high school. We were just friends; there was nothing romantic about it. It might’ve been the only time we hung out with 3 girls. From the outside, it might’ve looked like we were macking, when, in fact, we were not. I saw a group of guys sitting nearby. I didn’t like the looks of them, but it didn’t seem like an issue. I was in a group, with 3 girls, so I felt safer than I would’ve had I been alone.

We got in my parents’ car, Dan, Brent and I, and noticed that a car had pulled up directly behind us, blocking the car in. It was the guys I’d noticed inside. There were 3 or 4 of them. I recognized one of them from middle school. He was standing outside, telling us to get out of the car. He didn’t seem angry, but he did call us “pansies,” which seemed like a pretty weak insult that I associated with Monty Python.

I called the guy I knew by name. He stuck his head in the car, and I told him who I was. He didn’t betray any recognition of me. Even if he recognized me, I don’t think he cared. I remembered him as a huge fucking asshole, but, at my middle school, that was a pretty common condition.

“If we get out of the car, we’ll have to fight,” Dan said matter-of-factly. He didn’t sound scared, just resigned to our fate. They’d probably picked us out because we looked like easy prey. The presence of the girls may have provoked them. Maybe they envied us and wanted to embarrass us in front of what they thought were our dates.

No one made any move to get out of the car. I had no intention of fighting them. That was pretty much the last thing in the world I wanted. I was scared shitless. I got the impression Dan and Brent felt the same.

One of the girls who were with us managed to convince them to let us back out of our parking space, but that was only the beginning. We drove off, and they followed. Apparently, they weren’t ready to give up on the idea of beating us up.

We were on a freeway and came up on a fork in the road. I was at the wheel and hoped that I could maybe force them to take the other side of the fork, because they’d pulled up alongside us. I could see them laughing and apparently having the time of their lives. But I’ve never been much for stunt-driving, and I definitely wasn’t in the right frame of mind to pull it off.

One of the girls was also following us and managed to get between us and them, giving us some time to put some distance between us. But I stupidly turned off the highway we were on and tried to hide on a residential street. Dan told me not to; I just thought it was the smart thing to do. Of course, the Bad Guys (I can’t think of anything else to call them. That seems like the most apt name for them without revealing the one guy’s identity.) found us immediately, and the chase continued.

Brent was the first guy I had planned to drop off, but he wasn’t too keen on getting out of the car. I couldn’t blame him. I didn’t like our chances of outrunning these guys to our front doors or engaging them in hand-to-hand combat.

Dan, the most practical of us and the only one who hadn’t spent most of his life in the ‘burbs (not a coincidence, in my opinion), suggested going to a police station. This was in the time before GPS, so we actually had to know where a police station was. Luckily, Dan or Brent did, and that’s where we ended up.

There were 2 police officers talking outside, so we parked near them and quickly walked over. We were so relieved to see them. We told them we were being chased by those dudes. One officer laughed and said, “What’d ya do? Flip ‘em off?” I assured him nothing of the kind had happened. The Bad Guys drove into the parking lot, turned around and left.

We thanked the officers and took off. We joked about how scared we’d been. I admitted to “shaking like a leaf,” but I was just putting on a show, trying not to lose face in front of my male peers. They may’ve been my best friends, but I still couldn’t bring myself to express my true feelings: my rage and, especially, my fear.

I dropped off Brent and Dan per our usual routine and went home. It took me hours to fall asleep. I was stewing in impotent rage, imagining how I should’ve handled it. I wished I’d had a gun in the glove compartment, so I could’ve waved it in the guy’s face when he stuck his head in the car. I would’ve told him, coolly and calmly in a Dirty Harry-like tone, to get in his fucking car and drive the fuck off. And if I ever saw him again I would blow his fucking head off.

All I really wanted was to make him and his compatriots as scared as I’d been. I didn’t really wanna blow his head off, although, if it had come to that, I would’ve been OK with it. From then on, I had nothing but white-hot hatred for that guy, the only one of the Bad Guys I’d recognized. Fortunately, I no longer went to the same school as him, so I didn’t have to see him every day. In fact, I’ve never seen him since, to my unqualified relief.

A week ago, I finally decided to look him up online. I’d always avoided the temptation to do so out of fear that those feelings would come flooding back. But I didn’t want to be enslaved by that memory anymore. I thought finding him might release those feelings and free me from the pain of that event.

He popped up right away on Facebook. I clicked on his page and scrolled down to see a picture of him and his personal info. He apparently mow lawns and shovels snow for a living, which I did for several months 3 years ago, one of the few jobs I’ve actually enjoyed.

I barely recognized his picture. He got fat. But the messages on his wall were nice, run-of-the-mill stuff offering his services. He seemed to be just a regular joe who enjoys hunting and fishing. He looked pretty happy posing with a bunch of guys and the animals they’d killed. (FYI: I have no problem with hunting, as long as it isn’t excessive, cruel or a threat to other humans.)

To my shock, I was actually happy for him. But I’m not gonna lie. (Far be it from me to front on you, my loyal readers.) It might’ve helped that he’s fat and has a low-status job, the thinking being that, if I have to be and have those things, then so does he. Maybe if he looked like Tom Brady and had a job as a high-powered executive, I wouldn’t have been so forgiving.

But that’s not the world we live in, and, in this world, I was finally able to let go of that anger and hatred. And that felt really good. I’ll just have to see if I can let go of it for good, so I won’t let myself be bullied or bully others anymore.