Well, awhile back a friend called me and asked if I wanted to go drinking on St. Patty’s Day. I found myself downtown in a crowded Irish Pub drinking pints of Guinness. His friend came down and introduced himself. He was tall, lanky and tattooed. His day gig was as a Police Officer. He liked talking about guns. He had a Miller Lite longneck in each hand. This was before I had heard of hegemonic masculinity but he struck me as being overly macho. He almost seemed like a cartoon, a character from a bad movie, like some kind of an act. He suggested we go to another bar that played metal music. I readily agreed.
Along the way “Scott” made racist and anti-semitic comments. He called my friend “Aaron” a beaner. He even bragged that he used to hang out with Nazi skin heads in his crappy hometown in New Jersey. I am of mixed race and people usually can’t tell my ethnicity. His comments did not sit well with me. I tried to avoid Scott for the rest of the evening and found someone to play a game of pool with. I couldn’t avoid Scott any longer as my friend walked outside to smoke a cigarette and the guy I played pool with had to leave early for work the next day. Scott mentioned that my friend looked like a wannabe Chris Cornell (singer of Soundgarden) and asked if I thought he was gay. (He isn’t.) I said that I thought oversized meathead cops from New Jersey were gay. Scott didn’t like that very much.
My friend joined us in the conversation. Scott started bragging about what a ladies man he was. He said that he wanted to sleep with at least 60 women then settle down. He gruffly stated, “My number’s twenty two. What’s yours?”
My friend declined to answer. I looked him straight in the eyes and said “not twenty-two.”
He started getting irritated and said, “C’mon, your making me insecure here. Drop ’em, let’s hear your fuckin’ numbers.”
“Do you see how confident Aaron is?” I stated nonchalantly, “that’s what happens when your in the triple digits.”
“Really?” Scott asked.
Aaron said, “I don’t tell anyone my number, that’s an extremely personal thing.”
This guy was a racist, macho asshole and apparently not the sharpest tool in the shed. So I decided to have some fun at his expense. I told him that Aaron and I were planning to film a porno movie. I asked if he was interested in being one of the performers. He said that he’d be down. I told him that he would get to do hott women but he had to be open minded about working with other guys. His response made me laugh right in his face.
“A little sword crossin’ action never hurt anyone.” He proudly proclaimed.
I told him we would pay him in beers, lite beers. I said that we could film a scene where he pulls over a stunning lady but tells her that he doesn’t have to give her a ticket. He said he liked that scenario. Then I said it would be really funny to see a big guy get beat up by a really small dominatrix lady. He didn’t like that. I could tell that I was winning in our little verbal sparing. I never liked cops or the military for that matter. He kind of reminded me of my jerk cousin who is in the army. It was as if every macho asshole whom picked on me growing up was rolled into this one guy… …and he was really stupid.
As the evening wound down, we walked back to where he had parked. He had a newer Toyota Tacoma pickup. I said that was proof of his “sissyness” that he didn’t even drive an American truck. I also asked him if it was true that because he was a cop, he wouldn’t get a DUI if pulled over. He just laughed.
A few days later, I called Aaron to see a few bands. Aaron met up with me and said Scott would be there shortly. We caught a few opening bands and met up with Scott. He wanted to go to the bar so we walked over. He got a Pabst Blue Ribbon and I told him that if he wanted seconds, I could just piss in the can as that would be a higher quality beverage. He made some comment about Pabst being an honest working man’s beer.
We walked to the front of the stage. During the next band a good mosh pit broke out. Strangely enough, Scott looked nervous and out of place. He was taller than everyone else but seemed scared.
In between sets, the classic metal band Judas Priest played. Scott announced loudly. “I hate Judas Priest, ya know why? Cause Rob Halford is a fuckin’ fag!”
He went on with his rant, “Ya know who else I hate. Fuckin’ Glenn Danzig and fuckin’ Pete Steele from Type O Negative. Pete Steele posed in Playgirl, what a fuckin’ homo.” (Note-this is before Pete Steele died.)
On reflection, it strikes me as odd that he would call Pete Steele a homo for posing nude. I have never heard of a female actress being called a lesbo for appearing in Playboy. I guess there is some weird double standard I don’t know about.
After the show we were hanging around outside. Scott mentioned that he needed to get a forty of malt liquor then go home. He kept on running his mouth. I finally looked him in the eyes and said “Even though I’m smaller than you, I bet you couldn’t win in a fight.” To my surprise, he shut the hell up. We went our separate ways.
A few weeks later, I was hanging out with Aaron. Scott texted him. I told him ask if Scott was Mr. 23 yet. He replied something to the effect of “Nope, is there a time frame I have to accomplish this?”
I told Aaron to say “he just has to be hotter than Pete Steele.”
Scott texted back saying “LOL-I’ve made guys bigger than him cry.”
I had Aaron text back saying that Scott’s racism protected me from his gayness.
Scott’s final text was that I was a Camel Jockey and a Coon.
I grew up on the East Coast. i thought it was a shithole. All the guys do is drink and watch sports. I hated the macho attitudes and the gross, dumb, racist people from my hometown. Scott was just a big reminder of why I left. And, yeah, I hate cops too.
Stoner with a Boner