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| 06/17/01: Boiling Point Okay, so this is just a warning here, guys, but this week's commentary is going to be a highly uncharacteristic one for me. Uncharacteristically angry and bitter. And not nearly as humourous as my last one. Now, a lot of the anger I have towards this situation may be simply on account of the bad mood I was having at that particular moment, and being faced with such a situation again might have a different effect on me, but I figured that for those of you who have never seen this side of me before (namely all of you), I will self-indulgently talk a whole lotta wank while offering you further insight as to how my mind works. You see, typically, I am in one of two moods - happy or depressed, or some weird emotional melange involving both. But only once in a blue moon am I ever in a real BAD mood, the kind in which a simple trigger can cause my normal mood to snap into raging fury and homicidal tendencies. Two weeks ago, I was in a BAD mood. It didn't help that someone had chosen that particular moment to really piss me off in a manner which was actually quite relevant to what put me in the bad mood to begin with. Now, before I continue, allow me to say this: a lot of you (except Morgan) cannot picture me as a violent person. And that's for a reason - because you've never seen me angry. This is because of one simple, golden rule of thumb, and that is that basically, anyone who doesn't try to piss me off, won't piss me off. And if you do try to piss me off, it still usually takes extra special effort to piss me off. The situation: I was walking home from work downtown, back when I still worked at the telemarketing job. I had just gotten off the SkyTrain and prepping up for the two-hour-plus walk that I was facing ahead of me before I make it home. So naturally I gear up my discman and hope that the time will pass smoother once I'm lost in my "tune zone". Now, I leave the SkyTrain station on Granville and there's a bum sitting on the sidewalk, and I don't mean Frank. :) He asks me for spare change, and I acknowledge him with a little headshake to indicate that I don't have any. So what does he do, but he yells at me "FfffffUCK you!!" in a volume of voice which made it possible for me to hear him through the music that was being fed directly into my ear. So what? This kind of thing happens every day. Well, not exactly. When I turn down a bum, they usually don't cuss at me, because even if I don't give them anything, at least I acknowledge them and dignify them with a response. But this guy cussed me out, as if I were being negligent of my duty to give him my money. Now, let's put this into perspective; I had just gotten off of work. My job was at a telemarketing service that sold magazines, but wanked itself off like it was selling hot stocks. Now, the people I worked with were nice, yes, but the company as a whole was higher on itself than it ever should have been. It was run by a bunch of people who had seen "Boiler Room" way to many times. I accepted this job because I needed a job. I stayed at this job because I needed the money, despite how much I hated working there. This particular day, I hated work so much that I was almost to the point of tears. But I stayed working there because I run my life by principles I have written for myself, one of which is plain and simple: I make my own money. There have been a few emergency situations in which I have needed to ask for money: I was really thirsty and needed 25 cents more for a can of Coke, but the people I asked for the quarter were people whom I have, at various times, paid for their lunch or coffee, etc. I also needed money to survive the early stages of the transit strike, but that was my money, anyways, taken out of my university fund. And it doesn't end with money, either. I spent a week sleeping in fire escapes, and hardwood studio floors (concealed between costume racks to dodge security) because I refused to accept accomodations unless it was absolutely necessary. And when it did become absolutely necessary to sleep on my friends' couches, I was still only able to afford one McDonald's meal a day, and my buddy almost had to shove food down my mouth by force with surplus fried chicken that he was about to throw out anyways because he wasn't going to eat it. I don't accept charity, much less ask for it. When I need something, I find my own way of getting it. I worked a job where, simply by filling out an application form and attending the training sessions, you are guaranteed to pocket a hundred bucks at least, and that's the minimum anyone will ever receive on their first cheque. Even this bum, wearing an ensemble he picked up for under $10 at the Salvation Army would have been able to come away a hundred dollars richer for two days of listening to some guy speak. Folks, it's not that hard to find a job, it's just hard to find a good one. But as far as my experiences tell me, it's quite difficult to end up on the streets if you don't want to be there. So, back to the story - there I was, standing there, wearing only clothes that I've bought with my own money, coming off a shift at a job that I almost suicidally hated, and a bum tells me to fuck myself because I wouldn't give him any of my money. And this guy didn't even try to do anything to earn it! I've given money to beggars before, sometimes food, because I felt like I got something in return for my money. Maybe they told me a joke, or performed a trick, or simply made me go away feeling just a little bit happier, and they profited by it. I do not give money to a guy who sits on a sidewalk saying "spare change?" like a broken record, because he isn't even trying to earn his money, and that's probably why he's ended up there in the first place - because he's lazy and expects things to be handed to him without actually working to earn it. I know that everyone has a unique situation, and that some people are on the street because they had no choice, and that they deserved better and all that. But I could tell immediately by this guy's attitude, that it wasn't a twist of fate that put him on the street - he's out on his ass and he deserves it. Now, if you had been there with me, you would think that it hadn't affected me at all. But deep inside, I was swelling up with a rage like only Morgan can imagine me having. To put it bluntly, I had wanted to turn back towards him, kick him in the face, and continue to do so until his head had caved in. He could have begged all he wanted, and I wouldn't have cared one way or the other about what he was doing, even if I myself wouldn't do it. Personally, if I were a bum, I'd probably be collecting bottles and cans instead, because I'd be earning my money in my own little way. But he had the audacity to tell me to go fuck myself because I told him straight up that I didn't have money to give him. What had stopped me from caving his head in was the fact that the last time I had acted on my violent impulse, I was in grade 8, and was being bullied, so I swelled up with the desire to drive a pencil into his hand. And instead, what had happened was that I stabbed a pencil into his wrist. So I knew that if I want to become violent and wish to cave his head in, I very well might succeed, and that was what I was afraid of. Because when it comes down to it, I don't really want to hurt anybody, and I would have regretted it. I could have gone to jail and thrown away everything I spent my life working for. I could have gotten blood on my $160-on-sale Italian leather shoes. So, the point of this story is that I have posed myself with a question - has this situation taught me that I am, in fact, capable of violence, or the exact opposite? Am I just a bottle of rage which is approaching its boiling point? Will my friends still like me once they know about the dark side of my personality? What I did learn from this all is that if I had been any less patient a person as I am, then things could have gotten real ugly. Thank God this didn't happen to either of my older brothers... Back to home |