“DUDE FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK DUDE!”
“FUCK FUCK FUCK DUDE FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK!”
“DUDE DUDE DUDE DUDE FUCK FUCK FUCK!”
That’s how their conversation initially sounded to the person unschooled in “young douchebag.” Eventually I and the other spectators who were just trying to mind our individual business while waiting for our rides were able to figure out that someone gave someone a dirty look. A girlfriend might have been involved? Pinhead #1 was white and short. Pinhead #2 was perhaps Filipino(?) and short. I say “Filipino” because he had brown skin and Asian features. I am a close-to-middle aged white woman and I have next to no clue how to discern between certain ethnicities. White people in America are clueless. There’s guilt about it. To be frank, there’s not so much “guilt” as there is “fear of being found out as ignorant.” Yes, I worry about these things.
Pinheads #1 and #2 did a lot of literal chest thumping, I noticed Pinhead #2 still had one earbud in. Was he being coached? It’s like Cyrano De Roxanne!I need to completely remove my ear buds when I speak to people, and when I order at Dunkies so I am sure to SCREAM at the counter person without meaning to.
The threats and dialogue got increasingly more amusing. It was confirmed by the smirks and chuckles of the two other young men trying to separate them.
“Dude, you wanna fucking go? You wanna fucking go?”
“I’ll fucking slap you, man.”
“You’re gonna stab me? YOU’RE GONNA STAB ME, MOTHERFUCKER?!?!”
I’ve never seen someone get so enraged by thinking someone threatened to stab them. Most people would just run, or find a brick, or call a cop. Pinhead #1 began clawing at the neck of his t-shirt, and flexing his (sub-standard) muscles. It reminded me faintly of Randy “Macho Man” Savage, a former WWF (that’s what they called it back then) wrestler whom I used to watch as a child and thrill to his weird speech intonations when I wasn’t staring at spandexed man ass and pretending to care about champion belt match outcomes.
There’s more –
“I said SLAP, dumb motherfucker! SLAP!”
Chortle. Fights lose some of their ferocity when one opponent has to decipher a threat he made to the other.
They staggered like drunks across the circular pick-up area at Wollaston, the four of them. Two idiots, and the poor friends of idiots trying to maintain the peace. Swaying this way, and then that.
They began to betray their age (16? 3?).
“I’ll call my fucking cousin and he and his boys will come right the fuck down here and we’ll fucking kill you!”
“NO! Let’s go right now! I just got out of prison, dude! I just got off of parole! You hear me? Check my motherfucking phone and you’ll see all the friends I can get down here!” (Wow, he’s popular. And who knew the justice system was so lightning fast? The only thing I could picture him being in jail for was as a snack.)
Somewhat off in the distance, the girlfriend who had been alluded to at the beginning of this farce was leaning against a lamppost, sullen, arms folded, talking to another girl. She was watching disinterestedly. Seemingly unconcerned. As if everyone was always fighting over her and her jeggings.
A cigarette-smoking gentleman got out of his parked truck and ambled over to get in between them. They ignored him completely. The four of them still lurched around the concrete, with this man trailing them while casually asking them to drop it and go their separate ways.
They began to draw dangerously close to where I was leaning against a streetlight and pretending to read my book about how evil Scientology is.
(It really is. You have to keep paying the church! And if you fuck up, they send you to these work camp-type things! Did you know America has concentration camps? No wonder Tom Cruise won’t come out of the closet.)
As the quintet drew near me, I thought:
1) What if he did say “stab?” What if this is one of those awful accidents where an innocent bystander gets knifed? Paper cuts really hurt. Can you imagine getting stabbed by some cretin?
2) RUN! RUN! You should run! So what if they laugh!!!! You’ll survive!
3) Arm yourself with something witty to say insinuating that they’re fucktards without them catching on immediately if they get close enough!
4) Offer a half-hearted entreaty for everyone to calm down (even though you’re fine with them killing each other, less fucktard that way) if they get close enough!
5) You’re using Kindle for iPhone! You’ve got a PHONE IN YOUR HAND! Call the police! DIAL 911! Crime! Dissension! They may be short and stupid, but you are a pudgy white woman and haven’t been in a fistfight since freshman year of college and you needed to hit someone with an umbrella to get out of that one.
The group eventually swayed away from my streetlight. I breathed a sigh of relief. They DID separate briefly. The cigarette-smoking man left. Pinhead #1 dialed someone and wildly gesticulated at his phone and tore at his t-shirt some more. A black sedan with tinted windows (who pimps out a Taurus?) screeched up to speak with him. Wow, he IS popular. And apparently important.
The Taurus took off across the parking lot to speak to Pinhead #2. Scotty pulled up and I got in. He was on the phone, and ignoring my excitement. A patrol car pulled up, and began to speak to Pinhead #1, who got very docile. The bored girlfriend sauntered up and put her hands on his shoulders in a show of support. The officer left his car as Pinhead #1 pointed towards Pinhead #2 who was apparently being questioned by whoever was driving that phat Taurus. The patrolman began to get back in his squad car. Scotty was on the phone with someone and refused to pull around the semi-circle driveway so I could view the rest of this drama. A big SUV was blocking my view. I felt frustration. I needed to see this denouement!
Finally, we did pull around and as we passed Pinhead #1 yelling at his girlfriend (with the patrol car approaching Pinhead #2 and the fly Taurus he was probably about to slap or stab in the background) I felt the strangest and most juvenile urge to scream “PUSSY!” at him. I didn’t.