Last night I went with some friends from work to a goth bar in downtown Cincinnati. The place was weird and clearly not my scene, but for the most part the experience was way less miserable than expected. However, I did get a chance to prove my theory that no matter how innocent or non-malicious my actions are, I spread misery and pain to everything I touch. I'm kind of like King Midas, only I turn things I touch into shit instead of gold.
One of the surprisingly cool features of this place is a beach volleyball court. My group was considering playing, but the DJ abruptly decided to organize an on-the-fly dodgeball game in the sand using the soft volleyballs as the weapons. To make the game more interesting, he pitted the men against the women. Roughly 15 women lined up against 9 guys. The DJ thought the women outnumbering the men would make the match even, but the men completely dominating in the first two matches proved that a few more bodies doesn't exactly make up for the fact that a vast majority of women are very small and they suck at throwing things.
In the third and final game, the DJ split up the men and women 50-50 to try to create an even playing field. As the game began, a strong-looking guy pulled his arm back and let loose a bafflingly softly thrown ball in my direction. I easily caught it and went on the offensive. I tried to fake out the opposition by staring an opponent directly in the face and throwing the ball at someone else. I employed this strategy with a pretty good degree of success. Whenever I flex my muscles people laugh their asses off at the toothpicks that I'm trying to pass off as biceps, but for whatever reason I generate a good amount of force when I throw shit.
My surprisingly forceful semi-blindly thrown attacks took out a few women on the other team. My friends taunted me for going after the girls, so I aimed my next throw for a guy who was standing out in the open while his girlfriend hid behind him for protection. I brought my arm back and whipped a rocket at his chest. At the last second he jumped out of the way and my throw absolutely drilled the girl who was originally behind him in the head. Chest level for the boyfriend was equivalent to head level for her. She left the field of play crying and the hundred or so people who witnessed it called me a monster for what I did.
Clearly I did nothing wrong here. I felt terrible after delivering the hit and I immediately ran over to the girl to apologize, but I did nothing wrong. The guy deserves most of the blame for doing such a shitty, cowardly job of protecting his woman, and if the girl is the type of person who cries after getting hit with a volleyball, she probably shouldn't have joined the fucking game in the first place.
But that didn't matter. Regardless of the facts, I was the monstrous asshole who drilled a poor, defenseless girl in the head on purpose. I had friends pretend they didn't know me. I was genuinely worried that someone would follow me out to my car and kick my ass. The boyfriend sure as hell wasn't going to do it because he brazenly displayed what a fucking pussy he is, but he could have sicked his friends on me.
In the end, that one bad moment didn't define the whole night, I had a decent time, and the girl forgave me when I apologized to her, but there's something to be said when my actions while attempting to have some innocent fun managed to completely shock, outrage, and piss off an entire freaky goth bar. Being nonchalant and not reacting strongly to things is one of the defining traits of a goth for Christ's sake. I have a gift for shitting all over things without even trying. It's not a very desirable talent, but it's a talent nonetheless.
No comments:
Post a Comment