Gimme Three Steps

I wish I knew how to fight. I mean actually knew.

Not, I wish I had taken a few weeks of Tae Kwon Do as a kid, which I did. Not, I wish I had watched most of the fighting movies made in recent memory, which I have. Not, I wish I knew the first thing about MMA or boxing or any of the combat they show now on TV for sport, which I kind of do... no, see, even then, I'm kind of at a loss. I don't volunteer that I really have no basis of knowledge for this crap, but I don't. I've seen maybe 4 complete boxing matches my entire life. It hasn't stopped me from having conversations about boxing, but it still remains that I, like most people, don't know shit about boxing. If you don't believe me, ask this guy, if you can understand anything that he says:

Most people don't know s*** about boxing

I don't exactly know about fighting in general. I've never been in a real, actual, all out fight. I've been pretty good at actually avoiding it. The reason? Fighting is not what I do, and therefore not where I want any situations to devolve to. I have yet to be in a situation where it was actually worth it. And I'm not trying to say that there are not times that you may actually have to fight in, because there are things in this world worth fighting for. And then there are things that people fight over that are...well, that are pretty goddamn stupid things to fight over.

I once watched a friend of mine and a stranger get into a fist fight over who was first in line to get onto a rooftop bar. As in, we were already in the bar, we had drinks in our hands, and we were waiting to get up to a different part of the bar, and this friend and the dude behind him had to go outside to settle their differences because of who was supposed to be allowed to go upstairs first. I'm serious, they had to finish their drinks in order to fight about who would get to do more drinking first. So they go over to this empty parking lot, and I go with them mostly because I had already drank enough and was broke anyways at the time. And they hit eachother a bunch of times, and then my friend gets the guy pinned and starts pummeling him upside the head, so I stop the fight like an MMA ref, meaning I basically tackle my friend to stop him from giving the other guy brain damage. And then we all walked back across the street and all drank together. It was the dumbest use of 10 minutes I've ever seen outside of a bar. Especially since we had to wait in the same damn line for another 15 minutes anyway. What was the point of all of that?

I should pause to acknowledge something took: most of the fighting I am talking about just happens to involve alcohol. Being drunk just seems to exacerbate what are already bad decisions. I'll bet there are fights that happen that are between two sober individuals, but for our purpose here, I'm going to largely ignore those basically because of how convenient it is for me here.

But yeah, there are things in the world worth fighting for. And there are many other things that do not require it. And unfortunately, many things that do not require being fought over are fought over just the same. People fight about money, about race and religion, people fight over politics. And I don't mean they argue or debate, I mean they break out into fisticuffs over this shit. People move furniture and get shirtless and hurt one another over the weirdest shit, or shit that they can't control, or shit that is personal preference and that a fight would never change for either person.

Or how about reputation? People will fight other people over reputation to this day. I feel like that made sense in the 70's, when you had people hanging out at burger shacks with popped collars and greasy hair and without Instagram. Or maybe it didn't make sense then either, but I'm guessing there was less to do and people were pissed off enough about it to go fight somebody. But I can't imagine fighting anyone today for the purpose of my own rep. It's some cliche, that there's a bar fight over a drink that gets spilled on someone, and words get exchanged and a fight breaks out. I have had drink spilt on me at a bar. Do you know what happened? The bartender saw me spill it on myself and wouldn't give me a free one.

People fight over love too. That's another thing that would probably not make as much sense in the real world as it does in Hollywood. Two women fighting over a man, two men over a women, two men over a man, ect. Does it make sense, the idea that the winner of the fight is the best person for the relationship? Is that really sound logic? My fiancé, Tara, has never once required that I fight someone for her love, and I appreciate that. I am glad that she's not the type that wants me to go out and knock someone in the face just to show that I can. And part of it is that it's not who I am but part of it is also that it's not who she is. So I'm okay with both parts of that. Again, if I had to mix it up with some shady character, I would give it my best shot. But I am more than willing to admit that I would be out of my element.

Some years ago, I was in Alabama. Don't worry about why so much, I was in Alabama though. I know it's not the sunshine state, but that's what we kept calling it during this visit, because we thought it was funny. Anyway, we go out to a wonderful establishment called the Skybar. And most of the night was a great time. They had a front area that was your typical relaxed, open bar area, and then in the back was an enormous dance floor, with three other bar sections, very opened up atmosphere. And the group I was with, we got there early, and had free reign of the dance portion for most of the night, which I believe was a Wednesday. And slowly but surely, more and more people come in, and we get drinks and keep dancing, and more and more people come in, and we get super lit during this time. And one thing about me, I dance more when I get drunk. I have a good time and get even more goofy than I already am naturally. I also get ideas, usually that are not particularly good, and pursue those ideas.

On this particular night, I started dancing with this cute brunette with this blue dress. That's not the bad idea, mind you. She was a nice enough girl, she seemed to not mind how drunk and sweaty I had to have been by this time of the night. We were enjoying ourselves, nothing shady or anything to worry about. And then, for no reason at all, some random dude in a sweatshirt stumbles through the crowd, grabs ahold of the girl I'm dancing with, and falls down. She falls with him, right over top of him, and some others on the other side also go tumbling. It was really weird and embarrassing, but it's also possible I missed something else that was going on. Whatever.

I help my dance partner to her feet, whose name I feel like was something rather generic, like Kelly. Let's call her Kelly. Kelly is very upset about this, but she does her best not to show it as we walk over to the side where some small table is, and she tries to straighten up her dress and her hair, and just shaking her head, fuming. So of course, I ask if she's okay, and she's trying to keep from going on some rant about this guy that just caused a dance floor disturbance. So I make a suggestion. Here is the plan that I laid out:

Kelly and I will dance over towards where this same sweatshirt guy is standing, with his two friends. We will wait until he is not looking our direction, and she will give him a really good punch to the armpit, and then we will just keep dancing like nothing happened. My thinking was that this guy was so absolutely smashed, it wouldn't make sense to him, and we'd have a big laugh about it. Easy plan. Foolproof. Right?

Well, Kelly and I dance over, aloof. And the dude looks away, and she gives him a really good shot to the side of the arm instead of the armpit. Which I get, because the armpit was not going to be easy to go for. But she punches his arm, and he doesn't even seem to notice. So what does she do? Kelly punches him again. Like three times in a row. Well, it got his attention. Somehow, he managed to still not turn around while she was in the process of punching, he just missed it, but made the announcement that someone was hitting him and what the hell was that about and some other stuff, not particularly clear. And of course, he zeroes in on me.

So I tell him the truth: I didn't hit him, I don't know why he would think that I would have a reason to hit him. And then I lie right after that and say it must have been some waiter that had just walked past. And I point to a couple of girls in overalls nearby, and he looks for some reason. And the moment that he looks, Kelly hits him AGAIN. Now he turns his head back and his mood is instantly very different. He locks eyes with me and says, suddenly very coherent, "Alright, now I know that was you." I got a slight chill down my spine, but I think I actually kept a straight enough face. "Wasn't me that time either." And I'm somewhat shielding Kelly while we're having this interaction. So for whatever reason, he gets pulled to one side by his friends, and Kelly tugs me back the other way, and I'm still staring whatever-his-name down, trying to stay bold. But then I quickly turn to her and say, as smoothly as I can, "You're gonna get me killed in here!"

So she tried to keep it calm and light, and we laugh about it, but I'm actually a bit concerned because of how soon the guy flipped to a new demeanor. I didn't like that part of it at all. I was way more comfortable with him being a drunken buffoon. Kelly and I talked more as I glanced over, and realized that sweatshirt guy and his two friends were posted up at another table, sitting very still, and all are watching me. Like, watching me very carefully. Now I really don't like this. So Kelly says she has to go for a cigarette, and I say cool, I'm going to grab a drink. And as I leave the dance floor, I happen to notice out the side of my eye, that the three at the other table are also getting up and walking over to the bar, at a parallel position to me.

While I'm considering my options, I'm also looking around for the rest of the group that I came in with. And I don't see any of them anywhere, which is of further concern. I am alone, I am intoxicated (not severely but enough that it's a factor that I am aware of), I am in unfamiliar territory, my phone is about to die, and I might be about to die. Or at least get my ass beaten. I mean, I hate to genralize, but it is the south. I know that rednecks are basically everywhere if you look hard enough, but there are definitely rednecks in the south too. Now I could try to reason with the guy, but the explanation further implicates that it was my plan to hit him and then treat him like a moron. I could try to buy them drinks if I had money. And then as I look over once more, starting to really understand how much trouble I might be in, the song comes on...

I was cuttin a rug down at a place called the jug
With a girl named Linda Lou
When in walked a man, with a gun in his hand
And he was looking for a-you know who

Classic song, Gimme Three Steps by Lynyrd Skynyrd comes on. A song about a guy that has to leave a bar abruptly after having screwed up for not understanding the situation he has walked into. And I kind of look up, noticing the song, and then I look over at sweatshirt dude, and I kind of point up, to where the song is coming from more or less, trying to say, "You want to give me a head start at least?" And I assume he understood what I meant, because he gave me a very slight but distinct nod. Still locking eyes with me. Still with his two henchmen looking dudes.

So yeah, I walked calmly to the entrance of the bar portion, and then did my best to slink through that section to the front door of the place, and I ran back to the hotel, a few blocks away. I did not fight, I did not try to reason, I didn't even clarify that I understood all that had occurred. Don't care, really. I could be considered a complete coward by whoever reads this. I'll take my chances leaving a dumb situation when I see it unfolding. I have no idea what happened to Kelly or the sweaty guy. Maybe they knew eachother. Maybe it was some set up, and they were going to rob me later together, I don't know how these things go down. My point is, even if I knew how to fight, what would I even have been fighting over? Getting into it with these guys, even if I had backup, would have accomplished literally nothing. And if I did win the fight, was Kelly even worth fighting someone for? She was cute, but she wasn't 'get punched in the face' cute. She wasn't 'get duct taped and abducted and have Deliverance-level shit happen to me' attractive. And I will assume the worst is going to happen if I've gotten that drunk. Don't make me out to be some warrior. I ran track and field, I'm fine with fleeing the scene on foot. Don't give me the beatings. Just give me, sorry, I'll say it right.

Oh won't you gimme three steps
Gimme three steps, mister
Gimme three steps towards the door
Gimme three steps
Gimme three steps, mister
And you'll never see-a me no more

For sure.

Smooth Move

Be yourself. If you're a painter, then be a painter. If you're a fire fighter, be a fighter of fire. Even if you're an actor, be yourself while you're pretending to be other people, I guess. Hopefully you're not a drug dealer, though. Or a murderer. Do you best not to be a murderer, if that's what's actually going on in your head.

But for most people, be yourself.

As in be true to yourself. Be comfortable in your own skin. It's probably the only skin you're going to feel comfortable in. I mean, there's a whole host of things going on if you feel more comfortable in any other pair of skin than your own. But skin aside, being comfortable with what you are doing and not doing is a good lesson to learn. I feel like I've touched on this concept before, of doing you, not trying to do something just because somebody else is doing it.

Because that's the part that has occurred to me more lately. Not trying to emulate something just because others have it going. Staying within what you got at the moment, which by the way is very different than just accepting being a loser. At no point am I saying that you shouldn't work hard for what you want and aspire and dream. But dreaming does not mean hallucinating. Understand the hand you've been dealt before you try to play the hand. How you project yourself and act in general, be it long term or short term, should not seem forced. It should always feel natural, like you're not trying too hard. And I know that I have had many a time that I've tried too hard. In fact, there are times that I know I should not have tried, and did.

In college once, I borrowed my roommate's car to go to the store. Should have been straight forward, get some groceries, come back. Nice and easy. Nothing embarrassing gonna happen today.

And the world said under its breath: We'll see.

I looked forward to joyriding in his car in those days. It was sophomore year, which had been kind of rough for me up to this point. I had to work while going to school and running track, and was taking a larger class load than before, and was discovering how much it costs to take on all of my expenses at once, and was just stressed the hell out all of the time. One of the few reprieves I had was any time that the house was empty or I had a moment of silence somewhere that I could think out loud. Usually, this occurred while singing along to something at the top of my lungs.

I discovered the summer before my sophomore year that I really liked rock music. So every chance that I got, I would download some new rock music recommended by classmates and learn the song to where I could yell the lyrics and not be judged. Which wasn't even a big deal to get caught doing it, but I still preferred to be alone if I was going to blast my jams. So that's what I was doing in the car as I pulled out of the parking lot behind our house. Things are good.

I won't sit here and say that I remember everything about the drive, but I do remember that it was sometime with snow on the ground. I know it was noticeably cold and that I had trouble seeing early on. I stopped at a stoplight and had to wipe the windows of the car, because I had apparently forgotten how defrost worked. Things are less good.

I notice the car next to me has one of the windows cracked with smoke coming out. The guy in the driver seat has the gangsta lean going on, with a joint in his mouth. No bullshit, he is just smoking weed, driving down the street with the window down. It must have been just that cold, that if cops saw him, that who even cares? He looks over at me and gives me the nod, and then takes his joint of of his mouth, as his spits onto the ground just before pulling off. Things are different.

After a few minutes more of driving, I park, hop out of the car and go inside the grocery store. I have just gotten paid and can afford to get a large amount of food. Food that both tastes good and holds any kind of nutritional value. And when you're broke but get to fill up the gas tank or the shopping cart or  your stomach or something that was empty, it's a good feeling. I feel like I was dancing in the aisles as I picked the groceries that were coming home with me. Beans and Franks, spaghetti, chicken strips, chips and dip, you know, stuff that athletes should be eating. But I was so stoked to get to fill up my part of the pantry. Things are good again.

I pile all of my food into the car and take off, feeling awesome about getting to ride back and jam some more. I couldn't use the trunk because it was full of something that I couldn't move, so my groceries are in the back seat and one bag is next to me, on the passenger seat. I decide to take a different way back, onto one of the main streets in campus, which will take a little longer but will still get me back before too long. Things are going great.

I pull up to a stoplight on Regent street, near Park street, which is down the street from our house and is very busy at the time. There is a lot of people on the street and a car with three very attractive girls that pull up next to the car I'm in, with a few blocks back to the house. And I just so happened to have to spit, but I was also smiling at the girl in the passenger seat, and trying to be smooth, for whatever reason, I try to imitate the dude smoking the blunt earlier. Not even that I wanted to be some dude with the balls to smoke weed on the street in front of people. The nod and then the spitting thing, for whatever reason, made some sort of impact. So I go for it. Things are going smooth.

I give her the same smooth guy nod, and then I let my spit fly. I did not roll the window down very far, because of how cold it was, and I just wanted to get it back up as soon as possible. Sadly, the window did not go down far enough for my spit wad to leave the car safely. Half of my spit catches the side of the window and hangs onto the outside of the window and the inside at the same time. The girl I was smiling back at, rightfully so, starts laughing and pointing. Things are going un-smooth.

In my panic, I reach for napkins or something that can help clean this off of the window as quick as possible. Nothing seems to be a good choice, or really even a viable choice. I hear honks behind me and realize that the light is now green and I need to drive again. I start moving cautiously down the street while still fumbling for some kind of paper that can help remove the saliva on the window beside my face. I very much could have just stopped the car and parked before dealing with this. I did not. The only thing I find that I think could help the situation is the receipt from my groceries, which I find in the bag that's in the front seat. While glancing to the street ahead, I wipe the receipt onto the outside of the cars windshield as quickly as possible but without looking, it feels rough, and I quickly realize that the saliva has already frozen on the outside of the car window. Things are even less smooth than before.

Looking away from the road, briefly, I now also realize that the receipt is partially stuck to the window. I now struggle to remove the receipt instead of worrying about the spit, only to remember that I was driving and that I should check and make sure that I don't have to stop again. Which I did. I avoided crashing into the car in front of me. Of course, I accomplished this by skidding to a helpless stop and drifting part of the way into the next lane, which had the same car full of attractive girls. I am essentially blocking their path and the crosswalk at the same time, and look like a complete jackass that almost rammed into oncoming traffic. Things have never been this far from smooth. Things are jagged. Yes, I said jagged.

As I sat there, at another red light, diagnolly pointing into their lane, I could see that their entire car was now laughing and, I thought at the time, videotaping me on their camera phones, which was not as big a thing at this time as now. I also realized at this time that the bag of groceries in the front seat was completely spilled across the floor, mostly eggs and bananas and bread. I shrug, wave to the girls, and pull off as best I can when the green light comes. Ignoring the receipt, I just roll the window up and resolve to get home before doing anything else. Things are... Well, things are pretty normal for me.

I pull into the lot behind our house. I bring everything in from the back seat and go back to figure out the stuff that spilled. It turns out I only lost a few eggs, as the bananas and bread are fine. I pick up the eggs, and use a rag from the kitchen to wipe up the spilled yolk, which really wasn't even spilled that much into the car itself. Then I come back and use an ice scraper to remove the spit and attached receipt from the driver side window. I go inside and make a sandwich and get a mound of potato salad to go with it. And things are good again.

Now, big deal in general, right? I took a pseudo joy ride and almost wrecked my roommates car while looking like I had maybe never driven a car before, but it all worked out, right? Well, yeah. But I'm just saying, this could have been just about me enjoying singing in the car, and that would have been something goofy that everyone could relate to. And I'd have been fine with that. Instead, we took it to trying to be smooth for basically no reason and having it definitely not work. If I learned anything that night, it was a reaffirmation that I am not smooth. Or at least not that kind of smooth. You can be cool in different ways at a lot of different times. Riding in the snow, not my moment.

So yeah, stay you, stay cool in your own way, and stay alert when it's snowing. Buckle up out there. And in case you had not been told, receipts are not good napkins.

Not sure why I needed to reiterate that. Bye now.