So I was having a bad week. I was in a yucky mood because of, like 18 different frustrating things. I was waiting in the train station bar placating myself with red wine, and hoping to avoid alienating Chris when he joined me later, he being the only person around who would actually feel sorry for me.
So there I sat in the bar, book and wine at the table, and I hear over the din of Beyonce songs some punk guy screaming and shouting at some punk girl. They were probably about 20. You would call these kinds of people “chavs” in England; in America they would be “white trash.” I don’t know what they are called here.
These two began to shout and swear and actually push each other, but they did this as they were leaving. Myself and a few other lone patrons of the busy station bar turned our heads and watched the shouting match move itself towards the sliding glass door and out onto the main walkway of Southern Cross Station.
Ok, breathing out, tension gone, we all returned to our drinks and books and conversations.
But the calm was not to last. The two punks in hoodies shouted and swore their way back into the bar and carried on, showing little regard to anyone else.
I was busy bitching out things and people in my head. I didn’t need these two idiots doing it out loud right next to me.
They had moved their rowdy quarrel behind me when over the swearing and over the Beyonce came this BOOMING voice:
The guy punk responded in a string of low-key mangled obscenities. I turned my head and looked back. The booming belonged to a large powerful-looking man in a heavy beige suit. He was either late fifties, maybe early sixties, and huge. Not fat. Just big.
He boomed again, “PISS OFF! GET OUT! YOU AREN’T WANTED HERE!”
. . . . .. . . . . String of mangled obscenities from young punk . . ..
“PISS OFF!!!,” yelled Mr. Booming Voice with his large arm pointing towards the exit. And with that, the large booming man stormed towards the skinny angry punk and grabbed the front of his hoodie. If the punk had been wearing a shirt with a collar, I guess the booming man would have collared him.
The angry little punk writhed and tripped over his own feet as the booming man literally dragged this guy out of the bar and threw him onto the platform.
The punk did not know what to do. His stance was defiant, and the small bag he had been carrying he threw to the ground. So . . . . . I guess he threw down. They stood there, facing off. It was a face off.
It was so . . . . . EXCITING!! Every head in the station bar was turned! It was young verses old, punk verses class, scrawny verses brawny… It was going to come to blows!!! We all watched through the glass as Mr. Booming Voice towered over the scrappy little hoodie.
But then, even though the mangled obscenities carried on and the booming voice overpowered the busy station noises, the confrontation seemed to stop. I think the punk only could stand there with the F-word as his weapon. He had nothing. The booming man came back in to finish his beer.
He all but received a standing ovation. The people in the bar around me thanked him, nodded a smile at him, and complimented him on his powerful voice and physical initiative to throw out troublemakers. It was awesome!!
I wanted to give him a double thumbs up, but then I thought that was the kind of thing a loser would do, so I exchanged smiles with the older guy at the table next to me instead.
If this was the old west, Mr. Booming Voice, as he returned, would have pushed past the swinging saloon doors, dusted his trousers off, and returned the smoking barrel to his holster. Then the mustachioed bar owner would have slid a glass of whiskey down the wooden bar towards Mr. Booming Voice and give him the ol’ nod. The piano player would break the silence and we all would get back to our poker. There’d be a dead man left in the street, probably, but hey.
People don’t take care of business that way anymore. Bar fights are usually one piss-head fighting with another, and usually patrons want them both out. Where’s the fight for honor? For peace? Where’s the chivalry?
Maybe it’s barbaric, but what the booming voiced man did by dragging that punk out of the bar completely impressed me. He handled the situation with his bare hands, and restored peace to the bar!
A guy who can pull that off will always be a good guy in my book.