Thursday, October 14, 2004

Ich bin dumm.

I thought I was going to tell this story in chronological order but I can't think of a way to do it, other than by starting at the end of the story, with the regret.

I really wish I'd have cold-cocked that guy. After monday morning quarterbacking the situation with my friend Charlene, who happens to be a lawyer, I have come to realize that I could have punched that guy in the side of the head and knocked him unconscious, and would have aparently been within my rights. She said something about using enough force to control the situation. Breaking his kneecaps, she said, would have been wrong.

Why would I want to perpetrate harm upon my fellow man? Well, I came out of Panera after getting coffee with my mother (a semi-reward for allowing her to drag me out of bed at an ungodly hour so that she could run errands) and this guy is sitting in a car that looked like my car, with the door open. I figured, hey that can't be my car. There're a zillion other silver Focuses in this parking lot, maybe mine's the next one down. Then I saw a) the purple ferrit in the back, and b) him holding my "other" wallet (the one that contains only insurance cards and the discount card for every single store in the area).

So, I'm like what are you doing in my car? He starts mumbling that it wasn't my car, and I asked him what he was doing with my wallet? And he says that it isn't my wallet. I chased after him, and grabbed my wallet out of his hands and kept asking him if he took anything else out. He kept walking away from me, so I caught up to him and started feeling all over his jacket to see if he had anything else in the pockets. He pushed me away, and took off. My first response was to punch the guy, but response number one and one half was that if I got into it with him, I'd be sued (not that harm may come to me. The guy was scrawny, I could have totally taken him). Not that he'd get anything in a suit, I have nothing. However, what a time-consuming mess of paperwork.

I was going to let him go, I had my virtually not important wallet, and I knew I really had nothing else of value in the car, besides all my music books and some rolls of film that need to be developed, and those're only important to me. He was half way across the parking lot, and the "safe" thing to do is just let him go.

Then he took five steps back in my direction.

That made the not saneness deep within me well up and burst, like a spit-bubble; clear, white and full of many disgusting germs.

I chased him. For like five minutes.

Of course, I should have realized that he was coming back my way becuase his car was parked near my car, and he opened the door and jumped inside.

I had two thoughts simultaniously:

1) he hasn't pulled a knife or a gun on me yet, and this is a fancy car, so he probably WOULDN'T hit me if I got in front of the car. And if he did try, I'd jump on the car. By this point, the not saneness is a babbling fountain like the weird cement little boys that spit water into bird fountains in Italian food restraunts.

2) I should do the responsible thing that the cops will scold me if I don't do, and get his license plate.

So I ran up behind the car and got a good look, and started repeating to myself.

He proceeds to run into this teal truck and dings the side, and almost slams head -on into the car behind it, because, well, he's going the wrong way down a one way isle.

A few minutes after that, the cops showed up. I won't say it was anti-climactic at this point, because I was biting my nails as the officer (who was very nice, and showed up extremely promptly) was relaying information to the dispatcher, and information was coming back on who the car was registered to, etc.

I was kind of relieved when they had a home address for the guy, and it didn't look like the car was reported stolen. I was also biting my nails as to whether I'd get James to work on time. His place of employment does not see dealing with the cops as an excuse for being late. Me having been shot wouldn't have been acceptable, either. JAMES having been shot still wouldn't have been acceptable. They'd have asked him for two weeks' notice before using sick time (I'd better shut up. It's a rant in the making. Oh well, another blog for another day).

So I didn't get to the gym, even though I wanted to go and work off some adrenlyn and some aggression, dinner didn't get made yet again and we ate out yet again, but the damage to my window was minimal. For this I am thankful, and I am also thankful that God watches out for idiots, namely me. Of course, and I may change my mind later, I still don't feel like it was a bad decision. I feel like it's better to regret something I DID instead of regretting not doing something. Of course, I might be singing another tune if I were injured or dead.

Like I said, I'm dumb.


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