Respect

While we were driving to Nip & Tuck to pick up Cory's destroyed tent, I told him that one of the guys I work with--let's call him Ill--called me a cunt the other night. "What the fuck," he said, "who are these assholes you work with?" I said I didn't know and held on as we swung around a winding curve. "You can tell him that if he ever says anything like that to you again, I'm going to beat the shit out of him." I continued to stare out the window and tried not to smile. No one other than my parents has ever defended me before. I've never been around I guy I thought could physically protect me.

A few nights prior to our conversation, another guy I work with--alias Loco--threw an empty plastic cup at me. He had been about to give a full cup to our already very drunk friend who didn't need anymore, and I spilled it. Cory was standing only a few feet away and he was fast to growl at Loco and told him to apologize. But Loco refused and argued profusely for a good half hour or so until the boys' ride came to pick them up.

One of my friends who likes Loco has been going to town with him more and more. I caught her leaving the other day and said, "If he does somehing you don't like, let me know and I'll talk to Cory, okay?" She thought it was funny. I did too. If anyone around here is strong, it's her. I'm not nearly as thick-skinned. But I'm beginning to understand respect and where it's due.

The first night I went out swing dancing with Cory, the owner of the bar we were at--Woolley--knocked his cap off as he swung by with his own dance partner. "You should get him back," I said, preparing for revenge.

"No, this is his house," Cory said, and I was stunned into silence. It made me realize that if everyone thought this way--respected other peoples' space, both personal and social, then fewer fights would happen. It all begins with respect, and ends there too.