Versions of Violence in The Stuff That's Not Interesting But Is The Most Interesting Stuff I'll Write

Being friends with straight guys means that from time to time, things get uncomfortable. As with any friends you make, there are going to be times when they say something offensive and you have to communicate with them that what they’re saying is actually very hurtful. The problem is, when you have a friend from a different background, whether that’s something like race, sex, religion or sexual orientation, they sometimes cannot understand the frame of reference.

It gets worse when they begin what should be their apology with the words “I’ve been around gay/black/muslim people my whole life and a lot of them are my best friends!” That’s wonderful, ask them why what you’re saying is fucking offensive. I’m not above being offensive, in fact, many times I’ll be the one making the offensive joke/comment, but the problem is when the offender completely ignores the feelings of the offendee.

In the case of this particular straight man, and many of them in general, we are not seen as equals. We do not share the common goal of straight men, especially the straight men I know: pussy. Furthermore, since we are not women, they don’t want anything from us, so they don’t really have to pretend that they value us. Often times they do pretend, but that’s only for face-saving purposes. Recognizing us as men is something that is done as a spectacle, in reality, they have no clue what makes us men because the fundamental thing that makes them men in their mind is the pursuit of women.

When I say something or play a particular song that captures the interest of a woman in the room, it is singled-out as proof that, not only am I not a man, but that my opinions, contributions, maybe even my very presence, is not necessary. When I would get upset, I am told to “chill out”, that a “real man wouldn’t get so upset” and stop “being such a girl”.

These are what I call micro-aggressions. They are systemic ways of invalidating my existence in your presence. Everything I say is dismissed or ignored. In fact, even the word “no” has no weight in his presence.

When “no” doesn’t mean no coming from me, it makes me wonder what it would mean coming from the mouth of a woman.

The other night, the great purveyor of micro-aggressions didn’t like a particular song that was playing off my iPhone, and despite the fact that everyone else (three ladies and my buddy Kevin) were enjoying it, he took it upon himself to get up to go change the song. When I told him no, he simply said, “Sorry, Justin, but you’ve got the music taste of a bitch.”

That was it, I had had enough. I stood up, charged at him, slammed him into the wall, and said, “Don’t fucking touch my shit.”

Everyone sat there in silence, and nearly everyone except Kevin started scolding me for getting violent with him. You know what, though, he started it. There are many versions of violence, and since he wasn’t responding to words, I attacked him.

He got up off the ground, looked at me with wide-eyes, and walked away with his palms up. He moved with his girlfriend to the other side of the room, and the entire rest of the night he kept tossing me furtive glances. In the few days since then that I’ve seen him, he still remains cautious as if being stalked by a wild animal. Well, that’s what happens, you will learn....

Don’t. Fuck. With. Me.