Day 19 (-57) - Wiping Out Racism, One Cracker At A Time

Tonight, the ugly side of America reared its ugly head — and I was there to do something about it.

I’m writing this post from my now-safe location at the Sheraton Sand Key in Clearwater, Florida, but the fun took place up the road at the Clearwater Tri-City AMC Movie Theatre, to be exact.

It began when I went to see Twilight. More in upcoming posts as to why I was seeing Twilight while on vacation, alone, at 10pm.

Anyway, this post was originally going to deal with what I saw at the movie theater itself: mainly, a $4 ticket, and a $5 large popcorn and large drink combo. That’s $9 to see a new release, and these prices were good Mon-Thurs, all times. And this is a decent theater, in a fine neighborhood. The shock of prices returning to where they were YEARS ago was really hitting me tonight. On the drive down from Williston, I filled our rental van, 13 gallons, for under $25. $1.81 to be exact. Signs of progress, or signs of trouble?

As you can imagine, a $4 ticket price brings in lots of rowdy teenagers, and as the movie began, I was reminded why I don’t have too much of a problem paying $14 at Arclight for the pleasure of not having to get to the theater early, find a seat, or deal with obnoxious kids. Throughout the movie, there were several groups of college kids — 2 black, 1 white — making noise. The “shh!”s and “Shut the fuck up!”s were a constant narrative, adding gravitas to the heroine who goes all mushy for the nice dead dude. The groups were getting pissy with one another, but other than disturbing everyone else watching the movie, it never went anywhere.

After the movie finished (I’ll admit it, it’s worth seeing, and the pretty, undead homeboy really did do a great job), I walked out to the rental van, ready to get back to the hotel and to sleep. As I stepped out, the large group of white guys, 4 guys and 5 girls, were waiting at the curb for some reason. A VW Jetta pulled up with two black guys, and they started jawing with the white group, a continuation from whatever nonsense happened in the theatre. I was ignoring it, other than this was all taking place directly behind my car, and was going to tell them to take it elsewhere so I could get out, when the car with the black kids began to speed off. The main white kid, a thick kid wearing a polo and white jeans, was now chasing the Jetta with much bravado, telling them to step out at him, and he flicked his lit cigarette at the back of the car. As I reached my car door, with the cigarette-flicker now walking back to his friends and away from my car, when the car stopped, and the black guy in the passenger seat yelled out “Cracker!”

As the car the sped off, the white guy — clearly an intellectual giant — could only yell the one retort his feeble little brain could drum up:

“Nigger!”

Now, a long time ago, after being the victim of several anti-semetic acts, and witnessing several racist acts, while going to Florida State, I swore to myself I would never let that shit fly if I was around. And even thought the victims of this slur were far away — and most likely never even heard it (I hope they didn’t) — I just reacted.

“Yo, bro!” I bellowed from about 30 feet away. “That was not cool, dude. You do not say that, ever. Now you’ve pissed ME off.”

At this point, Self-Righteous Me is quite proud. And yes, that is actually what I said. But Practical Me does a quick sizing up of the situation, and using many of the math skills I learned in 1st grade, quickly realize that there is one of me, and NINE of them. And I am standing in a dark parking lot. At a closed AMC theater. In Clearwater, Florida. After midnight.

While my brain is quickly trying to pull the emergeny brake on my mouth, this guy — who has now reached the safety of his friends — turns around and, perhaps justifying my instincts, chooses to explain his actions with the big stranger who has just challenged him by saying, “He called me Cracker!”

Anyone who knows me will know, of course, what the next five words to come out of my mouth are going to be. And as Practical Me is now desperate to hit the abort button, Self-Righteous Me is still, fleetingly, in control, especially in light of the Kindergarten-esque “But he called me a bad name first!” argument that just came out of our villain. So of course, out comes:

“But you ARE a Cracker.”

This, my friends, is how intellectual elitism can get you seriously hurt.

It is as these words are coming out of my mouth that Practical Me has finally subdued Self-Righteous Me, and banished him from my brain, to sit and think of what he has done in my kidneys or perhaps my intestine. And Practical Me is now spinning to find a solution to this potential major issue, while at the same time, screaming to myself: I will NOT get outnumbered in a fight, and my ass kicked, outside the VAMPIRE MOVIE.

Fortunately for me, I’ve been in scenarios like this before, most notably the Florida Gator Offensive Live confrontation of 1992 (a story for another time, but I know David Schwartz is grateful for THAT save), so I know that the best way to diffuse a fight is through humor and creating commonalities with your adversary. So my brain, using the wit and speed that only years of Groundlings training can hone you for, spits out. “And so am I. Who the fuck cares?”

You should know that trying to pass one off as a redneck cracker, when you are not, is NOT the best strategy. You’d better damn well know how they talk, what words and expressions to use, and LOOK like you can back it up. The me of six months ago would have failed this last part. But for reasons I will keep to myself, I have recently changed my look, and started to dress like, well, a biker. Or mountain man. I’ve grown my beard out fairly wild, and taken to wearing bandanas or NASCAR hats. My friends think I’m an idiot for dressing this way, but people I’ve never met are intrigued, to say the least. But I digress:

At any rate, tonight I was wearing the NASCAR hat, was unshaven, and ironically wearing the same Disney shirt I had on in the LA Times pic — and I looked the part.

I don’t know if it was the look. I don’t know if it was the tone of my voice. I don’t know if the fact that I was alone, and challenging a group, made me luck nuts. I don’t know if it was that I was older than all of these kids, and carried the weight of that in my manner. I don’t know if it’s the fact that I’m 6′3″, 250 pounds, have a year of Krav Maga under my belt, and the confidence of all that to wade into a situation like that. I don’t know if it was a combination of all the above. But what I do know, is that our little cracker started walking towards me, mumbling under his breath.

As soon as he started towards me, the Krav started to kick in. He was walking away from his friends, so he was alone, and if he was going to mess with me, he was going to have a lot on his hands. If he turned the corner on me, he was getting a left fist without warning, then a right to the inside of the back of his head. If he made a fast move to me first, he was getting a kick to the nuts. I rocked back on my right toes, started to find my balance, and dropped my shoulders, ready to bring the hands up in an instant. Then I heard what he was mumbling:

“I’m sorry. I’m older than those guys, and I should have known better.”

Either this was a great ruse, or this kid had just learned something in front of his friends. And everyone knows the first rule of good strategy is to give your opponent an escape route. I walked around to meet him:

“I know those guys were punks, but you can’t go there. And we’re all crackers — be proud of it!”

As I came around the car, and he got a good look at me — older, bigger, and confident — I could see in his eyes it was over.

“I’m sorry I offended you,” he said.

“No worries — peace be with you, bro.”

And with that, we shook hands, and the group went their seperate ways, I assume home.

Now I know what I did was stupid. I was alone, in unfamiliar territory, and had confronted someone I didn;t know anything about. But a couple things occured to me as I burned off the adrenaline by looking for a copy of Twilight at the CVS down the street (again, more on this in later posts):

1) The only reason I think this resolved as it did, and didn’t escalate, was precisely because I was alone. If I had anyone with me I didn’t think could handle themselves, I probably would have not said anything. Had I been with anyone I DID trust in a fight, I don’t think I would have trusted THEM not to escalate - I would have been out of control on our side. And by being alone, there was no need for anyone in his group to feel like they needed to help him.

2) My language was appropriate. I never actually challenged him — I just told him what he said was inappropriate to me, an uninvolved observer. By speaking up, I also let him know that, in a mature way, I was willing to get involved, and that carried weight.

3) I really think I made an impact, not just on that guy, but his friends, too. They know if they use words like that (I hated even typing it, for pete’s sake), they may be biting off way more than they could chew, as it will most likely serve to anger others against them. And they also know what it looks like when someone stands up for what they believe in without resorting to — but always prepared for — violence.

4) I’m really glad the black guys didn’t hear it (or didn’t come back). It would have most likely escalated, and I absolutely would have had to help the black guys — they were wronged. It would have ended poorly for everyone.

5) Faced with this scenario again, I will take the same course of action, as long as drugs or alcohol, or insanity, are not involved. People respond when someone leads by example, and there’s not enough of that happening these days. Doing the right thing is ALWAYS the right choice (again, I exclude irrational influences on people, or irrational people, as the right thing usually means something different under those circumstances).

I’m not claiming to be a hero, or a great person. But doing the right thing felt good tonight, and I hope if you ever hear anyone say that word again, you’ll let them know that it is not acceptable.

Now, I have to go read Twilight.