I was just talking to an associate about how I deal with getting hurt physically. On top of this discussion I was playing with the new umbrella I won yesterday. I was holding it like a light saber in Star Wars and making the zzzzzz sound. It reminded me of a time when my nephew was about eight and he owned these two Star Wars light sabers. They were basically a flashlight with a hard plastic tube that glowed different colors when turned on. Matt and I were dueling and he started getting really rowdy as eight year old boys do. He started swinging pretty hard and I told him to “stop before you get hurt”. Well, like a true member of my family he didn’t stop upon warning and he cracked the light saber across my knuckles. It hurt like hell. But being me, the old competitive spirit took over, and I tee’d off on him, hitting him with my light saber across his fanny. It was like Albert Pujols swinging for a home run. We stopped playing light sabers. I must admit, Matt handled it like a trooper (not a Storm Trooper). He didn’t cry. Ok, ok, he was eight, (I won’t say how old I was, but I was out of college) but I did hit him on his rear and I had told him to stop. So….lesson learned.
That lead me to remember another time when someone hurt me while playing a friendly game of co-ed volleyball. I was a good volleyball player and I’m strong. I had excellent coaches. I know how to back someone off of the net. Enough said there.
I was working for American Airlines and it was Purchasing vs. Inventory Control. There was a woman in Inventory Control, Lisa. No one liked her. She was rude, and mean-spirited, and thought she was gorgeous. Trust me she was not. My father had a saying “if a woman is that ugly, you would think she would at least be nice.” He developed that saying after being around Lisa. Ok, so Lisa was a bitch. She was married to a big, doughy, stupid guy that wanted to be a professional bowler but couldn’t quite make it. He was as mean-spirited as she, but in a more dupe-ta-do way.
He kept crowding the net, reaching over, etc. No problem. I just kept making point by hitting around him. My vertical back in the day was excellent. Our team had made a point off of my hit and we were high-fiving and I had my head turned to talk to one of the guys on my team and Dopey (that is my pet name for him) hit the ball over the net at me with his fist and hit me in the side of the face. Seriously hard, and it made me a bit loopy for a moment. The guys on both sides were checking to make sure I was not injured. With the side of my face stinging I wouldn’t go out of the game. Something clicked. I told my teammates to make sure I got the ball. Dopey was giving me that stupid grin. You know that mean “I just hit you in the head and you’re a girl” look? So pissy.
Ball was served, ball was returned, ball was set to me, I started from back court and all my training kicked in. I went up to hit, and he went up to block and I brought my knee up at the same time. Dropped Dopey like a bag of wet cement. Oh, and scored the point.
I didn’t gloat. I wanted to say, “yeah, that’s right, mess with me again.” But I didn’t. My father taught me better and Miss Meyers and Miss Placke would have been displeased if I had.
His horrible wife Lisa charged over to me. Now Lisa was about 5’3″ both vertical and horizontal and she started yelling at me, poking me in the chest with her finger. I told her once…once…to get that finger off of me before she lost it.
It was a great day AND someone got the entire game on film. Funny, because they would play it in the conference room at lunch….ball bouncing off of my head, then the downing of Dopey. The guys loved it and I gained instant respect from the men.
So that leads me to remember that I am very competitive especially when injured. Don’t mess with a wounded animal. Yes, it’s not very Ghandi-esque. I am especially that way when other people mess with or injure those I love. Now I tend to do it with words as I would prefer not to get my rear end kicked. So don’t shove my baby niece in the Trippets Shoe Store you little animal. You know who you are!
TO the man that mugged me in the parking lot of the Glendale Heights Michael’s store…yeah that’s right…you got hit a few times didn’t you? Ok, so you almost broke my nose, and gave me two black eyes and a split lip. But it was on, wasn’t it? Where are you know? Jail.
I just don’t like bullies.