Tear of Rage

Time is ticking down towards my Hawaii vacation, and I've been getting some going outs taken care of.

With TM2000 warming up the islands for me, and Morpheus (is that his nickname? I thought I had a new one, but I can't recall it at the moment) was all, sick, or something... so I went out alone through LQA.

I had a couple of interesting things happen (naturally) but the highlight/lowlight occurred at about 2:15 AM, on the northwest corner of Mercer and Queen Anne.

First, of course, some context. There are two primary places I tend to frequent on Lower Queen Anne (aka LQA). First and foremost is Ozzies. Secondly is Chopstix, which is a dueling piano bar around the corner.

I'm not, truth be told, the hugest fan of Chopstix in the world, but other people like it and I am always prone to peer pressure and I conform at the drop of a hat.

Also, since I go to Ozzies so often, I like to mix it up by going Thursday nights to Chopstix. It's Ladies' Night on Thursdays, and if one is willing to wade through the chaff, there is occasionally wheat.

With all of that said, there is one guy who's there every Thursday. I can't make fun of him for that, both because (a) I'm at Ozzies much more often than he's at Chopstix, and (b) the only reason I know he's there every Thursday is because I am, too. He has sort of a flambouyant wardrobe, though (and this is from a guy who is mocked pretty consistently for his garb, remember) and he definitely stands out.

Thursday night he had a buddy with him. Maybe it had occurred before, or maybe it was a first... but he had a buddy. His friend was wearing a stone washed denim vest to go with stone washed jeans (is "stone wash" a single word? Hyphenated? Screw it; I'm keeping it as two words).

Why was he wearing this? It turns out that it was 80's night at Chopstix. That's right... Ladies' Night and 80's Night. I think they tried to work in a "Salute our Troops" angle, too, but two themes is the legal limit, as it turns out.

Unfortunately for Vest Guy, he and his buddy The Regular were the only two aware of the 80's night. (As an aside: while I find this amusing, I fell victim to a similar snafu at Ozzies Pajama Night in March of 2007.)

If this was all that had happened, I would not have blogged about it. Or, rather, I might have, but I wouldn't have poured so much of this fiscal quarter's advertising revenue into driving traffic to this blog.

No. That is not all that happened.

Ozzies closed. I wanted orange juice, so I walked to the Metropolitan Market to get some. Orange juice. Get some orange juice.

On the way back, I spied The Regular and Vest Guy standing on the corner about a block out of my way. We were, like, the only three people (at least non-invisible people) around, so I tucked my Simply Orange under my arm and went over to say hello.

Vest Guy was upset. He was pacing and he was staring down the street towards Ozzies. The Regular was making placating gestures, smiling and trying to calm Vest Guy down. I had to know what was happening... so I asked.

With a visible effort, Vest Guy stopped pacing and turned to face me. He looked upset. Angry and hurt and... well, upset. Because I didn't feel like getting punched, I prodded but gently in our succeeding conversation, which went something like this:

Me: Hey... is everything all right?
Vest Guy: You know sometimes people are just assholes.
The Regular: And sometimes people have too much to drink--
VG: They push and they push and they say shit and they--
TR: --and stuff gets taken the wrong way...
VG: --and you think...
Me: Woah. What's going on?
TR: We were outside of Ozzies, and--
VG: Outside of Ozzies, guys were talking shit and they were just so... ahh, FUCKERS!
TR: --like a dozen guys were talking. (To VG) You know there were like a dozen, right?
VG: I don't care... I say we go back and we...
TR: You know I was just trying to get you out of there, right?
Me: (Looking down the street towards Ozzies) Well, whomever they were, it seems they've gone... can you tell me what happened?
VG: You think you're doing well, and then they say something, and it's 8th Grade and Dungeons and Dragons, and...
Me: Oh, my.
TR: (Nodding) Yes... see?

I did see. I didn't need to know particulars to know that this young man, this young man who was wearing a stone washed denim vest with a sleeveless shirt underneath, I didn't need to know particulars to know that this young man had felt his entire adulthood and maturity ripped away from him... to know that the veneer of badassedness that was (presumably) only partially captured by his 80's Night adventure garb was taken away from him, and he was suddenly back to re-rolling 3d6 for Charisma because he really wanted to get a Cleric that could have a lot of followers.

What I did see, though, was a single tear rolling down his right cheek. A Tear of Rage.

We went on to discuss local politics and Sonics dancers and the state of the GOP in the state of Washington (and by "discuss" I mean that they talked while I listened, vainly hoping to build upon the Tear of Rage moment)... but nothing stuck with me like the emotion that Vest Guy exhibited.

Go go, Vest Guy. Rage on.