First off, this is Fred.
-/-/-/-
Recently a friend of mine posted on Facebook that he was finally coming out as believing something that he KNEW most of his friends thought was ridiculous.
For the sake of polite discourse and respect for the community, I’ll leave it at that, but needless to say, it’s polarizing AF, and something people on both sides feel passionately about.
Now, I logged on AFTER a fair amount of people had lodged their complaints / questions and challenges to his newly announced belief, so I found myself stifling my own desire to comment by reading those of others. But as I read on… questions were leveled, and he would respond. Evidence produced and he would respond. Seemingly logical contradiction to his claims were leveled, and he would respond. But as I read, I didn’t recognize my friend. I didn’t hear thoughtful answers. Didn’t accept his explanations. Didn’t find discourse in what I was reading. What I saw seemed to me (and I’ll admit, who the fuck am I), but it seemed to me to be fanaticism. It looked like a fracture of the mind, or the evidence of a drug. I didn’t see my friend.
After a while, I composed a pointed, but hopefully at least partially comical response. It showed my viewpoint, but attempted humor. I was, IRL, sad that my friend had chosen this POV, but also partially aware, it could be satire.
Then shit took a turn in my NON-social media world.
My dog, Fred
A rescue I love with every cuddly ounce of my soft, bitch ass side, had been lethargic and not himself for a few days. After seeking the advice from a couple friends, and comparing notes with another who had dealt with problems in a similar breed, I concluded that it was time to take my little guy to the vet. On the day before NYE. Not a great time.
So I was fucking distracted.
By the time I got the Vet ER (the only thing open on the day and time I’ve described), got him checked in and settled, and sent my friend to the liquor store for the pint of Wild Turkey we’d obviously need (quick side note, they had a shit ton of beverages in this lobby, from coffee, to gatorade, to sodas… i.e. mixers for a sneaky cocktail) I pulled out my phone.
And what I saw had taken a turn.
Another friend of mine that also thought this was fucking ridiculous had chimed in on my thread, been berated and returned fire with a comment that someone so “fucking stupid shouldn’t be allowed to raise kids.” Things obviously escalated.
BUT
None of the finer points or logical contradictions had been addressed. So I jumped back in.
But now I’ve had two strong pulls from the bottle, been told my dog needs to have X-Rays, and just endured the condescending tone of a woman more used to talking down to animals than relating to humans, as she laid out my options for the “cheap” and “full” steps to take to heal my little guy.
Here he is again.
So you can understand I’m upset.
So I compose a response. This one has a fair amount more vitriol. Several more profanities and a clearer declaration of my point of view.
The response is not from the crowd, but from my friend himself. The original poster.
He said, “Remember that time I flipped you when you thought you were tough and made you smell your own farts.”
And, “Good thing you have have so many people around you that love you for being such a nice person… all your exes…”
To give you a little back story, this friend of mine had come to LA a decade ago and landed some family successful work as a model (specifically underwear) and was one of the many hopeful actors in this city. A few years back he was told he was up for the role of CONAN in the upcoming remake of the movie and he just needed to work out, get ready for the role and the producers would decide. This manager, (skeezy fuck that he was) kept bringing him in for “chemistry reads,” “screen tests,” and building up his dreams.
For his part, my friend worked out daily. Grew his hair out long and got strong AS FUCK.
So yeah, one night I got drunk, tried to wrestle him, and got… tossed. Truly, I smile thinking about it, because there’s actually something kind of amazing about having a guy that has spent the last 4 months getting in “super hero” shape, just fucking toss your ass, and humiliate you. hahahahahahahaha
BUT
In the end, he didn’t get the role. They, “Went with a ‘name actor’ instead.”
He was devastated, and ended up shortly after, moving back to Ohio, getting married, going bald, and creating a small business (which does quite well) shooting wedding videos with his brother.
So, arguably his lowest point.
Which brings me back to the Facebook comment thread feud.
—————here we are.
I was sad as fuck about my dog, mad as shit about this stance he was taking, as happens so often, protected by being behind a smart phone 1500 miles from his target, and I said this:
“Yeah dude, I remember getting flipped. You were strong back then. Almost as strong as Conan… Almost.”
…
…
The doctor came back into the waiting room and escorted me to the little room. She told me my dog did have serious back problems, but that at this moment there was nothing they could do. She tried to hollowly comfort me by saying I wouldn’t be having to pay for back surgery that day (cheap, poor fuck I was), but that the best they could do was make him comfortable with pain meds, and give him some steroids.
As they prepped him for checkout, I pulled out my phone.
I had a DM from my friend.
“You really hurt me with your comment. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised what people will say behind a computer, but that was the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me. I guess I know where we stand.”
Did I have excuses? Had he made it personal first? Was I justified in my anger at the stance he took?
Maybe.
Sure.
…
Maybe…
I deleted my comment and the whole thread out of shame.
Shortly after, he deleted the original post, and what had eventually become over 500 comments and responses.
I told him that I was sorry for what I had said, and that I truly was worried about him, since he didn’t sound like the guy I knew, but I never heard back.
I guess I deserve that. I knew the one thing that was the most painful, and I unabashedly punched it as callously as I could.
Back in grade school I was made fun of a lot. My name sounds a lot like a particular big purple dinosaur that was popular at the time, and kids used to pound me with that. By the time I was in 7th grade, I had developed a sense of humor as a defense and was finally abel to hit back with my words. Eventually some other kids started to ask me how to hurt people’s feelings the way that I did, and I started giving out lunchtime lessons on how to spot and exploit a person’s vulnerability (BTW, I’m not saying I was some sherlock, middle schoolers are generally pretty easy to humiliate anyway.) But by the time I was a freshman, I had enough decimated feelings in my wake, that I actually had to take stock, and go on an apology tour.
Is this what I’ve become again?
The truly upsetting thought is that he was joking. That he was riling people up for fun, getting their goats as a New Years prank, and was laughing his ass off… Until me. Until I decided to bring a hand grenade to a slap fight.
Whatever, fuck me, he probably doesn’t care. But I do. We have to remember to be better. The joke wasn’t worth the sting.
Fred think’s he’s better and won’t stop running around wagging his tail, jumping on the couch, and being the best fucking little wiener dog I know.
But I wonder if I’ll ever speak to my friend again.