Marika Malaea

faithful marauder + fake royal

Adventures in Anger

with 17 comments

This is a story about how I beat a grubby ho down last week, and lived to tell the tale. Not to be confused with a grubby hoedown, which would make it a very different story, indeed.

My overheated, overworked, nicotine-deprived, unbalanced, PMS-having self was standing on 4th Avenue–arguably one of the busier 4-lane, one-way streets in Seattle–when a guy (man, boy, crackhead, whatever) walked past me and said, “Nice jar of oils.” Hold on a second, let me back up so you can get the whole story:

I had a nice jar of oils with me.

After giving my boss a manicure/pedicure, I was allowed to choose any three products from the retail area (a very generous tip, since those three equaled $100 bucks or so), and one of the products I chose was our yummy sea salt scrub. After work, I was waiting for the Esq to scoop me up, and didn’t have room for the scrub in my bag, so I set it on one of the big concrete planters that line 4th Avenue. This kid–this scrubby, emaciated, drugged-up street urchin–walked past me and said, “Nice jar of oils”, while reaching for it. I said, Please don’t touch my shit“–I thought the ‘please’ was nice enough, but he looked back at me and said, “Whatever!” A minute later, I was texting someone when he came back my way, fast, and grabbed the jar–he was trying to steal it from me! With my hands full, my only reaction–my only choice, really–was to put my foot in his ass and kick him into the street.

Not literally IN his ass, because he didn’t really have one, and not into the street like “a street filled with vehicular danger”; yes, the street is busy, but I kicked him into what I call the Sort-Of Safety Lane. The Sort-Of Safety Lane is the lane people illegally park in while waiting to pick up their loved ones from work, the spa, or a meth deal (in my case, all three). Plus, the Esq just bought me new work shoes that are really expensive and totally boss, so I wouldn’t deign to ruin them in some crackhead’s garbage-riddled asshole.

Anyways. The street urchin yelled, “Heyyy!” as though I’d offended his delicate sensibilities, and a crotchety old black woman (or should I say, ‘crotchety old black witness’) across the street shouted, “You coulda kilt that boeh!” I bent down, wrenched my salt scrub out of his hands–which I have now dubbed The Sea Salt Scrub of Justice–screamed “GOOOOD!” at the lady, and screamed louder at the kid, “DON’T STEAL MY FUCKING SHIT!”

Upon reflection, this is not what I should have said. Shit can’t fuck; screaming silly phrases at a bedraggled sewer rat is desultory. It made no impact at all. Why couldn’t I have shrieked a perfect movie line? Something cool, like, “And let that be a lesson to you!” or “I know a guy who knows karate!”, or, “I’m going to follow you home and kill you in your sleep, and then I’ll kill your parents and eat all your food.” But no. I didn’t say those things. It’s not like I’m The Fonz; one-liners don’t just appear out of the sky. You have to work for them.

Moral of the story: don’t steal my fucking shit stuff, or I’ll put my foot in your ass knock you into oncoming traffic. Let that be a lesson to you.


Written by sn0tteh

July 8, 2008 at 2:33 PM

Posted in street urchin

17 Responses

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  1. What could he have possibly wanted with salt scrub? So strange. But then again, I got into my only physical altercation in Seattle in Pioneer square. Some homeless looking man tried to hit me in the stomach when I was very pregnant with Darian. I was just walking up the street and he came at me. I caught his hand, knocked him back and flipped the fuck out. There are just a lot of crazies out there. At least we have fewer than NY. I’m just happy you are OK.

    Michelle Auer

    July 8, 2008 at 6:38 PM

  2. This reminds me of the time some old, crochety, ass-raping shit eater in a Mercedes Kompressor thought it would be cute to try and cut me off when I have “Baby on Board” plastered all over my car in the Fred Meyer parking lot.

    When I flipped him the bird, he pulled up close to me and started making exaggerated motions for me to go in front of him. As I stepped on the gas, he punched it and cut me off AGAIN.

    So I did what any mother with Floyd K’s blood would do. I followed him to the next stoplight, rolled down my window, told him “Just because you drive a fucking Mercedes doesn’t mean you aren’t fucking old and a total asshole!”, then proceeded to cut him off when the light turned green.

    I felt much better. 🙂 And you were TOTALLY justified. Hey, there’s free soap in the bathroom at Westlake for those fuckers, they don’t deserve your fancy scrub!


    July 8, 2008 at 6:49 PM

  3. OMG Kim. Class and grace, that’s all I have to say. You embody both quite well.

    What a dickhole! Everyone knows you don’t cut off a redheaded new mother with a Baby On Board sticker in the window–it just isn’t done.

    Snotty McSnotterson

    July 8, 2008 at 6:57 PM

  4. And, to Michelle, thank you! I think maybe he wanted the salt scrub so he would look and smell nicer. At least that’s what I hope. Although he was probably just trying to fuck with me, stupid asshole.

    Snotty McSnotterson

    July 8, 2008 at 6:58 PM

  5. I found myself clapping during this post.


    July 8, 2008 at 9:33 PM

  6. I did, too. I’m glad we’re on the same page.

    Snotty McSnotterson

    July 8, 2008 at 11:12 PM

  7. We seem to have problems at that intersection!

    Next time I’m leaving Lush, I’m keeping my volcanic salt balls under wraps…


    July 9, 2008 at 12:38 AM


    Snotty McSnotterson

    July 9, 2008 at 2:29 AM

  9. Hahahahaha awesome! So fucking awesome. xD I have seen an icon that says “holy fucking shit” and an illustration that goes along with it to give you a more graphic understanding. It was disturbing but funny. Fecal jokes are so common these days.

    Saw you in the coffee place, too, and then I saw your comment on my blog. xD Thanks! I think I’m actually improving (or so I hope…) and people might come back, at least if just to look at the titles of my newer entries.


    July 9, 2008 at 3:19 AM

  10. Volcanic salt balls? I won’t comment further… Except to say that there are MORE crazies in Seattle than in NYC in my opinion. I think the passive-agressive Northwest mentality most people have doesn’t allow them to put them in their place. Good for you!!!


    July 9, 2008 at 4:25 AM

  11. BEST STORY EVER should be placed on CL’s best of list!!!!!!
    You rock woman, we need this empowering story for women to be told over a campfire and we all need to hug afterwards.——-JENNY


    July 10, 2008 at 4:04 AM

  12. Why do you call your boyfriend the Esq? Do he mind?

    Shumit DasGupta

    July 11, 2008 at 12:36 AM

  13. and “desultory if it doesn’t mean anything” is a tautology. I need to get out of the fucking house.

    Shumit DasGupta

    July 11, 2008 at 12:50 AM

  14. Tautology=true. I wondered who would catch it. And it ended up being a stranger with a name I can’t pronounce.


    Snotty McSnotterson

    July 11, 2008 at 12:56 AM

  15. OMG, this one had me in stitches. I’d have loved to seen that one.

    Miss you woman. “One of these days we gotta…” seems to be enduring theme for us.

    We really need to go grab lunch sometime. e-mail me and I’ll send you my cell number.


    July 11, 2008 at 8:28 AM

  16. Well, if the idea was to juxtapose ‘fucking shit’ with the fancier ‘desultory’, it totally worked- I was so impressed I had to look up ‘desultory’. Clearly, I had also looked up ‘tautology’ 2 weeks ago, and have been waiting to use it since.

    And it’s

    Shoo-mitt Doss-GOOP-tah.

    like it looks.

    Shumit DasGupta

    July 11, 2008 at 2:32 PM

  17. Yay! I impressed Shoo-mitt Doss-GOOP-tah! You’re right. It sounds just like it looks.

    Snotty McSnotterson

    July 11, 2008 at 2:42 PM

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