I almost got in a fight last night. I would be lying if I said I had everything under control but after trash talking to the shitty people you will soon learn more about, I made a reckless assessment that I wasn’t afraid and was ready to back it up. Teresa was by my side, but she’s useless in a fight, so it was one against two. However, in moments like this, I like to recall Uncle Homer who always tells me, “Don’t ever be afraid to get some hits on you.”
I wish you would have told me to always wear shoes and not huaraches before going outside.
I was lightly reading right beside Lance before Teresa messages me: “Can I come over if I get out before 12 [AM]?” I, of course, had been tired from the long day that I had interning, going to class, and half-ass trying to catch up on work before needing to sleep early–I had a 6 AM shift the next morning. Despite my longing to be left alone and peacefully enjoy the last few minutes of being the scholar student I wish I actually was, I said yes. Teresa, Daniel, and Daniel’s girlfriend, Teresa–We’ll call her Teresita from now on for the sake of avoiding confusion–arrive and Teresa and I go over each other’s day, barely conveying the smallest ounce of affection. Then, I tell her that I need to get ready to sleep for tomorrows early shift. I grab my keys and walk her to my car outside to drop her off at her apartment.
Feet away from getting into my car, on the corner of my eye, I see two White kids goofily trecking behind us. They get really close, not considerate of our space, until one of them—Frat boy one, the asshole with the brown hair—steps on the back of my huarache, flat-tiring me. Like people’s eyes natural reaction to ward off dirt from entering the pupil by closing, I naturally reacted to the insensible idiot by giving him a short-worded retort: “Watch it.” Probably, because these kids grew up their whole lives privileged in every aspect of American societal standards and had their hands held by mommy and daddy until they were finally dropped at college, where their hidden racism, bigotry developed from their mingling with other White-conservative free-thinkers like themselves, they had zero sense of boundaries, confrontation, micro and major aggression, and my favorite, courage; which is why I end up losing my fucking huarache.
The 6 foot, 150-160 pound, White kid with the brown hair along with his blonde-haired White friend, sporting glasses with a similar build, stops and tells me “What did you say?” to which I reply “Watch it, you got a problem.” This turns into them childishly demanding me that I shouldn’t be mad and to apologize. I let them know that I wasn’t and if they didn’t want any problems to keep moving. From how they held themselves, I assessed that they could have had a drink or two but nowhere near drunk; at most, they were only buzzed. Then, I started getting heated because they’re telling me that I’m acting out of hand because I’m telling them to leave, not going into my car, and speaking up against them. These fucks were probably just feeding each other’s egos and having a jolly, good time thinking they could punk me when I was only with Teresa. But they were wrong. I was already having an off day and the last thing I wanted to do was play therapist with Teresa and explain to her why I had to get physical, or, worse, pretend to myself and agree with her that letting them walk away was the best thing to do.
The tension sky-rocketed once Teresa got out the car and told them to leave. I knew I wasn’t going to let her, or any lady—Sorry ladies, male chivalry still exists, even its mostly toxic—risk being hurt from a scuffle that wasn’t their own. That’s when I told Teresa to go back into the car, and I stood one foot away from both guys, indicating that I was going to throw hands if they got any closer. They started backing away, so I walked back to my car. Then, right when I was about to get in the car, the punk with the blonde hair tells his buddy, “Wouldn’t it be funny if we just dented his car.” This led me to close the door in front of me and urge them to please, with a cherry on top, do it to see what happens. At this point, I start yelling at the guys and rambling fighting words—nothing sexist, racist, or offensive to a group of people. They start walking back and, finally, all Hell is broke loose. The guy with the brown hair tells me the most blatant, pure racist remark I have ever encountered in all twenty-one years of my life to which I have grown-up in Republican Orange County as an adolescent, to living in just as a conservative city but sprinkled with enough minorities to silence the racism in San Jacinto/Hemet as a teenager, to currently living in Westwood where I attend one of the most liberal schools in one of the most Democratic cities in the nation: “Look at yourself, you’re Brown, God hates you.”
Like the dynamite that killed Emil Nobel without question while he experimented with nitroglycerin, there was zero hesitation. I blew up and immediately started chasing the guy, forgetting about the blonde-haired prick who ran a different direction and ran uphill to try to catch him to teach him a lesson or two about what he said. Unfortunately, because I was wearing huaraches—They’re practically sandals—one of them flew off my left foot, so I was running barefoot on one leg while my other leg was strapped with a sandal-like bottom cushioned with a car tire for a sole. I ran up Gayley, down Veteran, then stopped right before hitting Ophir drive. My legs gave out and to be completely honest I was exhausted, partly because I haven’t worked on cardio for a while but mostly because as I was chasing him, I was also yelling at him.
After stopping to rest, I made a long walk back to my apartment. There I was walking barefoot with one huarache gripped to my hand, wearing my favorite sleeping shirt that says ‘Blink If You Want Me” and bright yellow UCLA pajama shorts. Greg found me moments later and told me that after I chased after the guy, Teresa called my roommate Daniel to come outside. Daniel, inside the house with Greg and Lance, along with friends raced outside to look for me. I was okay but the adrenaline was boiling my nerves, making me feel enraged. I know it’s a mean thing to do, but when I got back, I didn’t look at Teresa. All I wanted to do was worry about myself and bathe my feet—I asked Greg to drop off Teresa at her apartment. My body had finally let me fall asleep around 3 AM 2 hours before getting ready for my morning shift.
Am I reckless?
In no way do I use the word ‘White’ as a proponent of all White people in having the same qualities as the ones mentioned above.