Haha yes, it is “an interesting life experience” indeed. I have three stories here, the first two are just build-ups to the third one so I’ll be brief on those.
Basically first time someone fucked with my car I was sleeping in late and I heard some voices and a smash sound outside. For a moment the question of whether it was my car crossed my mind, but I thought that was ridiculous: I didn’t leave anything particularly valuable, I don’t have any enemies in town etc. Well of course it was my driver’s side window. I have no idea why they did it (there was some shitty non-functional PS1 stick on the front passenger seat, maybe they thought it was ecks-bocks), but I drove to Bristol for a street fighter session that night with no window (was fucking cold too).
Second one was my own stupid fault. I was working for Honda at the time and I left my sweet-ass Honda jacket in the car. Got out there to find the car was undamaged but the boot/trunk was ajar and the jacket was gone. I was fucking FURIOUS. The Honda job was the first job I actually valued highly, and that jacket meant more than just being a cool jacket, that was part of my fucking identity there. Was so angry.
And FINALLY this is the main one. I was at a friend’s house in Surbiton (not exactly ghetto, it’s near Kingston-upon-Thames) and we’re out in the garden drinking and smoking all the usual stuff we’d do back then. And I see two or three weirdly dressed people passing by the front of the house. Looks like they’d been to an 80s-themed party or something. Well, one of them is holding what appears to be a wastepaper basket/small bin over his head that appeared to be empty. I thought nothing of it for a moment, then I heard that smash again, and this time I IMMEDIATELY knew it was my car.
I took off like a crazy man across the garden and vaulted the fence. Was moving so fast my legs couldn’t keep up so I took a massive spill into the road and fucked my knee and elbow up pretty bad, but at the time didn’t feel it, teched the fall and continued. The guy had absolutely no idea I was after him, and I caught him red-handed (actually, bin-handed) on his own (his friends had run off).
I was up in his face before he knew it and I’m just asking him “Why’d you do that? That was my fucking car, why’d you do that?” And shoving him around and shit. He’s looking shook as fuck that the guy whose car he just vandalised had caught him, and his excuse is something like “I didn’t know it was your car”
I replied “what? What the fuck does that mean? You don’t know me! What the fuck does that mean?” still shoving him in the chest repeatedly. And then I remember standing there and eyeing up his fucking jaw, like just angry heavy breathing, fists clenched, eyeing that jaw, thinking do I swing? Do I swing here? And he’s saying shit like “I don’t want to fight you” (well, shouldnt have put a bin through my fucking car window then).
And what did I do? The lamest fucking schoolground fighting techniques you can fucking imagine. I tried to trip him up. Yeah, that’s right. I kinda grappled him a bit and then swept my leg behind him with my next shove. He wobbled around a a bit but stayed up, and then the clinch was over. I mean what the fuck, right? All my cage-potato theory-fighter shit was just nowhere near being in my consciousness (no attempt at a proper single or double-leg takedown).
I wasted so much time that the guy eventually managed to get just enough space to turn and run, and I remember the rodent-like expression of fear on his pathetic face as he ran. I know you can’t entirely tell, but it was a soft part of town, and he was lighter than me, and I could have fucking taken him in a fight I’m sure, but there was no way I could catch him running. So I persued as long as I could and when I was out of breath just screamed “YOU FAAAHKKKKIIIIINNNG CUNNNNNNNNNNNNNT!!!” futiley into the night sky, as if cursing the face of God himself for befalling me with such an unjust evening.
I should add here that I’m not a fighter, in fact never really been in a proper fight, but after this event I really beat myself up psychologically. My friends (who, by the way, would have been much appreciated if they’d have gotten on the scene quick enough. One of them claimed he was following me but had to run inside first to to put on his SLIPPERS, the other one didn’t even twig what was going on quick enough, the dumb fuck)) well they said it was good of me not to hit him, but part of me couldn’t escape the fact that part of the reason was I was SCARED to fight him.
It really, really fucking bugged me. Plus, on top of that getting the window replaced was a massive nightmare and I went drink-driving in the courtesy car, which was another source of immense shame (alleviated somewhat by discovering that my father had done the same thing when young). I was actually finding myself HOPING someone would start on me so I could get in a fight, and redeem my honour.
This is all off-topic now so I’ll wrap this up fairly quickly. Luckily for me, one of my Polish housemates was a) a fairly small wiry guy and b) a very bad, aggressive drunk. He would keep starting on me once he’d had a few vodkas, and although the first time I didn’t fight back even when I was tapping out in his fucking stupid chokehold (“I snap ur neck!”), the second time he tried it I was drunk as fuck, got incredibly hyped and angry and beat him up. But even then I was proud that I held back from full power and only used appropriate force (his head was banging off the floor though so had to be stopped).
SO… rights of passage anyone?