How many of you have ever been confronted with some variation of the challenge to which the title of this essay is the answer you never dared offer? It's a schoolyard kind of thing, a rite of passage of sorts, perhaps, but certainly a ritualistic performance involving several people. There's the challengee, of course -- you, if you're male and a little, shall we say, averse to rough play. You might be alone, but the odds are you have a couple of like-minded friends with you. Then there's the challenger. You know what he's like without my making you recall the details. Invariably he has some pals with him. This is invariable because what we have is a piece of street theater, and the star needs a sympathetic audience.
So Tough Guy poses to you the question that has no correct answer: "You sayin' something about my mother?" You've probably said nothing at all up to now, hoping to avoid trouble, and so you stammer out "No, no, of course not." [Cue the adrenalin: heartbeat up? Check. Breaths short and shallow? Check. That clammy feeling? Check.] To which the scripted reply is "You calling me a liar?" He advances, you retreat; he perhaps prods you with a forefinger. Despite the physical menace, though, he doesn't want to fight so much as simply to intimidate, and to elicit the moronic leers of his chums; you want only to wake from a nightmare.
via The Japery
No comments:
Post a Comment