The Man-Moment

The Man Moment: Part 1
“Like I'm gonna stand here as a man/
and let some queer-ass, funny-looking nigga get the upper hand.”
- Obie Trice, “We All Die One Day”

There is a moment in every man’s life where he has an unstoppable urge to establish dominance.

This genetic omnipresence has been embedded in the male psyche ever since we emerged from the primordial soup to go scoop cave-sluts.

The trait has never changed, only the times. In centuries past, we dueled and jousted to prove who was the leader of the wolf pack.

Now most conflicts come to fruition by yelling into your cell phone with threatening proclamations, such as
“BRO, DON’T TALK SHIT CAUSE I’VE GOT MAD BACK AND WE’LL STOMP YOU OUT…BUT THERE’S NO BEEF…BUT IF THERE WAS ME AND MY BOYS WILL COME THROUGH AND PUT IT ALL ON THE LINE CAUSE YOU HOOKED UP WITH MY BOY’S BOY’S GIRL. WE DIE FOR THAT SHIT!”

Chivalry! Omerta`! My Boys Are Jacked And Will Fuck You Up!

During my senior year of high school, I experienced one of these "man-moments” and paid dearly.

In other words, I took my 50 Cent-fueled machismo to the next level and got my ass beat, yielding hilarious results for you, all three loyal readers, and embarrassing consequences for me: an Angry Young Man who thought he was a Big Shot who could not handle Pressure. Yea, I write to a Billy Joel mix…so what, faggot? Besides, I’ve become more Billy and less 50.

SEPTEMBER 2006

After a tragic car accident in our high school parking lot, seniors were barred from leaving campus grounds for lunch, a traditional rite of passage for upperclassmen.
So, in an attempt to quell the Unstoppable Senior Ego, the administration commissioned a “Senior Lounge”: An outdoor seating area adjacent to the main cafeteria, privy to seniors only, guarded by a teacher assigned to lunch duty. It was little noon nightclub complete with a faux bouncer. It was our private Pandora. Free of underclassmen intrusion.

Until one day.

My 17-year old cohorts and I spent our lunch period like we did any other; arguing over important issues like “Who can shotgun the most beers of our boys?” and “How many bitches does Lebron probably average per week?”

Until we were interrupted.

By Him.

A junior.

In the senior lounge.

Recklessly chatting away on his Nextel.

THE AUDACITY! THE IGNORANCE! THE NEXTEL CHIRPING NOISE!

My friend, let’s call him…Niles…commenced the instigation that worked so well on me during my younger years:

“YO KRUM…LOOK AT THAT KID…TELL HIM TO GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE. YOU NEVER STAND UP FOR YOURSELF MAN, DO IT!”

“Um..how does that relate to standing up for my-“

“C’MON BRO STOP BEING SUCH A PUSSY!!!”

*sigh*

I relented and approached the offender, still on his phone, oblivious to his impending doom.

Niles shadowed me a foot behind, like an instructor assessing a pupil.

“Yo, get the fuck out of here.” I declared.

“What did you say?” the Kid answered back, more confused than indignant

“YOU HEARD HIM FAGGOT!!” Niles bellowed and shoved the Kid toward the door.

“WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM?” the Kid said, and began to retreat back into the main cafeteria.

AT THAT MOMENT, I COMITTED THE SINGLE DUMBEST, CRO-MAGNUN, MAN-MOMENT OF ALL TIME:

*HUUUUUUGH-PPPPPPPPPPPT!!!!!!!!*

I spit right in the poor fuck’s face.

….I know….I know.

He stood there for a moment, frozen in time and I watched my putrid saliva cascade down his cheek.

He spun and exited the cafeteria very quickly.

“…WHAT THE FUCK MAN??” Niles exclaimed, grinning ear to pierced ear.

I was dumbfounded.

“THAT WAS FUCKED UP! YOU CROSSED THE LINE, TOUGH GUY.” Niles said, giggling at my embarrassment.

Before I could utter any form of rebuttal, I heard the high-heels of my assistant principal, Ms. Boyle, cluck towards me.

A tall, thin blonde woman with light skin and blonde hair, she motioned me out of the lounge with a single index finger curled over the shoulder of her red pantsuit.

Even while committing the unforgivable, I was aroused…but fuck, was I in trouble!

“LETS GO TO MY OFFICE.”


I turned back at Niles, and the rest of my friends, who were in hysterics.
Fucking assholes.

Ms. Boyle shut the door behind us. Nice.

“Evan, -“

I cut her off.

“I know it was horrible, immature, and stupid. I was totally wrong, I’ll go apologize right now.”

“No..that’s not gonna do it…Evan, how would like it if you were constantly tormented as you were going blind?”

“WHAT?? HE’S BLIND???!”

“Well…almost”

"WHAT THE FUCK?? !? I SPIT IN A BLIND KID’S FACE??!”

“Hey. Language…clearly a suspension is in order, but let’s bring him in here for you to apologize.”

Ms. Boyle radioed a lunch aide to retrieve the Blind Kid.

About 10 minutes later, one of the aides poked his head in the door.

“We can’t find him anywhere…He said something about Evan being ‘fucked now’. I don’t know, we think he left campus grounds.”

“Well…we’ll settle this on Monday, Evan.” said Ms. Boyle, showing me the door.

I got up, with my stomach churning in anxiety, still in disbelief over the series of events that transpired during a single lunch period.

PART 2 COMING SOON.