The title speaks for itself. First, a little background...
In April 2000, my father, a reporter for a Richmond, VA news station was sent to Vietnam to do stories on the 25th anniversary of the end of the war. Richmond, you see, has a very large Vietnamese population, many of whom were taken out of the country before the fall of Saigon by a Catholic charity that's based in the city.
While there, he got me a shirt with a picture of Ho Chi Minh on it from a Vietnamese street vendor. He figured I would think it was amusing and he was right. And let me say, for a shirt bought for the equivalent of a U.S. quarter, it's held up remarkably well for 5 years. No holes, no wear, and Ho's picture is still remarkably clear.
As it turns out, though...this would prove to be nearly fatal to me and a friend...
I wake up today and rummage around in my shirt drawer. Slim pickings. Damn, I need to do laundry. No biggie, I pull on the aforementioned Ho Chi Minh shirt and proceed to go about my day.
Then my friend calls and insists I take him to Wal-Mart because he heard from another friend that they have "The Big Lebowski" on sale there for $4.50. We get there and it turns out...no, they don't. No biggie. He picks up some stuff he needed like bath soap and cereal. We move to the checkout line....and this is where the fun began.
We're standing there, idly chatting, complaining about whatever the holdup is in the line. (And at Wal-Mart, there's ALWAYS a holdup of some sort.) There was a man in front of us getting soda pop or something like that...he was maybe 5'11" or 6', mustache, mid to late 50's in age.
My friend and I are talking, minding our own business, when I hear the man say menacingly, "You think that shirt is cool or somethin', pal?"
Blink. What the hell is he talking about? I'd forgotten what shirt I even have on. I look down and see it...Oh, shit...I know where this is heading already.
In my best, offhand, good-natured voice I reply, "Nah, it was a just a gift," and turn back to my friend to continue talking.
"Hey, fuck you, buddy. You're pissin' me off with that shirt. I think it's fucking bullshit. You little fucking punk."
Hoo boy. Now he's pissing me off...I wasn't doing anything and he has to...grrr. I look back at him and say sarcastically, "Thanks for the advice, I'll take that under advisement," and again attempt to continue my conversation.
"Fuck you. I oughta rip your motherfucking head off for wearing that. You think it's so fucking funny, don't you. I should beat your little fucking ass."
Now I'm seething. Who is this asshole? Now I'm not the most rational person when I'm angry...even less so than most people. Fuck this guy, I'm thinking. He's got nothing. So in my infinite wisdom, I look him in the eye and say, "Then take your best shot, buddy. Go ahead, take a swing." The whole time I'm half-hoping he does hit me, because I can see my student loans suddenly paid off from the lawsuit settlement that would follow.
Apparently he wasn't expecting that because he just glared at me for a minute. Then it was his turn to checkout and he turns to the cashier. Whew...well at least that's done, I thought.
Hah. Not yet.
He finished checking out and I move up with my friend to take our turn. As he gathers up his bags and walks away, he turns around and says, "Fuck you, you piece of shit. I really should kick your fucking punk ass. I oughta tear your fucking head off. I can't believe you'd wear that fucking rag after what I went through over there."
This is the last straw. Before I continue my story, let me give you one bit of information about me: I've always had an awful talent of being able to hit people where it hurts. It's like I instinctively can know people's weak points. I further have the awful talent of being able to viciously exploit that...I've made more than one person cry with a particularly brutal, cutting remark when they've upset me.
I'm already an impulsive person with a less-than-perfect brain-to-mouth filter. That's when I'm in a good mood. When I get angry, forget it...I'll say anything. I've said things that would curdle your insides, I promise you.
This guy's an embittered Vietnam vet. His weakness is obvious.
Fine, if this asshole wants to play this way...I looked him right in the eye, gave him my best flat, Erwin Rommel-eqsue stare and said, "Yeah, yeah, try not to kill any babies on your way home, motherfucker."
Woo. That did it, let me tell you. The pain and anguish of memories from 30 years ago flashed across his face like neon lights. He managed to snarl a bitter, venomous, "Fuck you, prick," before stalking out the doors.
Whew. Well, that's done. As we're walking out, my friend says half-jokingly, "You know, I hope he doesn't try to run us down now."
Those words are no sooner out of his mouth than the guy proceeds to do exactly that.
He comes barreling down on us in his blue F-150, the engine roaring with acceleration. We back up quickly, then realize, Shit, we're dead if we don't move, and practically dive out of the way. I see the man raving something I can't hear--his windows were up--and waving his fist around. He runs a stop sign, nearly causing a traffic accident, before going zooming at top speed toward the lot exit.
My initial rage has faded now, and as I sit here typing this, I have a great deal of guilt. Certainly my last comment was unfair and entirely beyond the pale. I suppose that was the point, because I wanted to hurt the dumb bastard, but still. I've always been supportive and sympathetic towards Vietnam vets. I was a complete ass.
Still, I don't think I deserved to almost get runover and killed by a one ton pickup truck. Now I'm wondering...is that guy just a hateful bastard? Or was he a decent guy at heart who just got a raw nerve touched? What's he thinking now at home?
I don't know. Though I can easily see now how Vietnam was such a contentious issue in the last election.
I'm so conflicted now. I was wearing that shirt because I had nothing else decent to wear, not to make any kind of political statement. I was entirely minding my own business. He butted in on me.
If he had said calmly, "I'm a Vietnam vet and I don't appreciate that shirt," I could have easily explained the situation to him of where the shirt came from and why I was wearing it and things would have been fine. But no...he had to be a jerk. A huge jerk.
And yet...God...I feel like such an asshole for calling him a baby killer. Unfair in the extreme. Maybe he deserved it, but...I don't know.
I wish I had some great insight to end this with, but I don't. To any Kossack Vietnam vets out there, or any Vietnam vets in Kossack families...I'm sorry. I'm so so sorry. Please accept my sincerest apologies and don't think less of me. It was a moment of anger when I felt very threatened.
Fuck it. I'm an asshole.
UPDATE: Actually, I was so wrapped up in myself, I forgot to mention how bad I feel about my friend. He did absolutely NOTHING and almost got run down too. I've apologized a million times already. He says it's cool, but man...my mouth almost got me and a buddy killed. Scary shit, I tell you.
UPDATE #2: I posted this and then promptly fell asleep on the couch watching CSI. I just woke up now...and I'm quite astonished by the reponses. I appreciate all of them, no matter what you think. I have to eat soon here, but I'll roll up my sleeves and get to replying soon enough. Thanks for the concern/words of advice/words of concern/words of reprimand. They are all appreciated.
UPDATE #3: I was just about to start issuing responses, when my cell rang. It was my buddy who nearly got flattened also, suggesting we hit the bar. This, to me, sounds like a fantastic idea and I'm going there as soon as I finish this.
Some quick things though: Security at Wal-Mart didn't notice because the exchange wasn't a shouting match, it was more that tone of low, growling anger...you know the one. The cashier did hear it, however, and looked scared out of her mind. She actually asked us, "Was he really serious?" As we found out when we walked outside....yes he was.
I thought about calling the cops, but I decided not to. I'm not going to give him the satisfaction of continuing this. He thinks he won by scaring the shit out of some little punk, I suppose. So be it. I'd just like to put this behind me.
You are all right about Wal-Mart. I hadn't set foot in it for over six months. I was humoring my friend...but, indeed, friends don't let friends shop at Wal-Mart. For any reason. Believe me, I know that now
It's beyond encouraging to see all "The Big Lebwoski" love here. I was fortunate enough to see it opening weekend in theaters and it remains one of my favorites movies to this day. So many great, cherished memories involve watching it.
Oh, and as to the shirt...it's a thin, white t-shirt with Ho's picture on it...and underneath says "Ho Chi Minh."
Now, if you excuse me, I have an appointment with a pitcher of Yuengling.