I know this is going to be hard to believe but, some people elicit me as a conduit to a peaceful resolution to situations. Many times I can pull it off with an aplomb of a seasoned diplomat. But how interesting could that be?
“Why thank you, Chris, for reminding me that hitting someone in the face with a post hole digger could be considered assault within the legal community.”
That leads us to assume this visit to the conflict resolution booth didn’t turn out as smoothly.
A mother, who I am familiar with, her pregnant daughter, who I’ve been familiar with since she was a virgin, are in a tussle with the daughter’s husband, who I have yet to meet.
Because I’m an idiot I walk over when I am summoned. I’m seriously considering signing up for some don’t pay attention when screaming people call your name classes.
I position myself between the lovely couple and ask them to explain why they are sullying my previously sullied day. Boy, was that a mistake. I won’t go into the gory details (non-parenthetically) (turns out, since she was de-virginized she really wanted to erase those tracks. He’s upset because she fucked his best friend, he got pissed at her and punched his best friend in the face) but, as you can assume, it was a big old spoonful of ugly dumped into a saucepan full of bile.
I tell the husband he has a right to be upset but he shouldn’t hit people in the face and, this is what I really emphasized, he shouldn’t be bringing this issue out in a public place. Especially in a place it’s my responsibility to keep peaceful.
I guess the mother (who, I will remind, is the one who called me over) didn’t like that solution so grabbed my arm sticking her fingernails into my flesh. Actually, below the flesh. You know, the place where blood lives.
With her talons still making their impression I look her in the face and ask her, softly, quietly, politely, to disengage. I know I used that word, I know she’s smart enough to know what that word means so imagine my surprise when she pushed her pretty damn hard nails deeper into a place I’d prefer not to have them.
What’s a boy to do? Here I am trying to keep the peace and end up in a kerfuffle of my own. So I did what a peacekeeper of my ilk would do. I smiled, leaned close to her face and said,
“Release right now or I will headbutt you so hard your daughter miscarries.”
Needless to say, I now have everyone’s attention. And ire.
“You wouldn’t do that.” She says.
Because I no longer feel the need to have hands on or nails in me I take her hand and pry her fingers from my arm. Still smiling I say,
“I would not only headbutt you but as you were falling I’d kick your legs out from under you and stomp you the moment you hit the ground.”
She releases her grip. I hold her hand a beat longer and harder than necessary.
“Hey!” The husband says. “What’s that shit? You said not to hit people.”
I turned to him and said,
“I said you shouldn’t hit people. I’m the boss here and can do whatever the fuck I want. And, right now, I want you all to pack the fuck up and get the fuck outta here.”
I step back to take them all in. It’s funny how situations ebb and flow. Mere moments ago the three of these people were at each others throats. Now they are docile and comforting to one another while focusing on a common enemy.
Conflict resolution: it’s all about redirecting the anger.