Bullies, Hoggs and Hazzards: Three Short TV Icons
“Are we to be bullied into a certain philosophy engendered in the whims of an egotist?” – John Keats letter to JH Reynolds [referring to Wordsworth] (February 3, 1818)
Decades ago, I’m meeting my wife and friends at a fancy shmancy restaurant. As I enter, a friendly tall capped chauffeur (Twas shmancy) bids me an enjoyable meal.
I’m the first to arrive. They won’t seat me without my “entire party” (shmancy), suggest I have an overpriced drink at the bar, by myself.
(Like on the high holidays), I’d rather listen to the chauffeur. I go back outside.
He jokes:”That’s quick service!” We chat until interrupted by an obviously inebriated diner emerging with cigarette in hand:
“You guys got a light?”
I shake my head as does the chauffeur who adds amiably: “It’s not healthy for you, buddy.”
“Buddy”, who (other than not wearing a three-piece white suit, tie and hat) is a doppelgänger for short, obese Boss Hogg from the then popular Dukes of Hazzard TV series, takes offense, rising on his tiptoes to poke the chauffeur with his finger as high up his chest as he can reach:
“I’m not your buddy! You will never be my buddy! I know infinitely more than you guys ever will! That’s why you guys will always be drivers, waiting outside, and will never get to eat inside! That’s why smoking is not healthy for you, but it’s perfectly healthy for me!”
I’m about to tell him where I’ll be happy to drive him, but he breaks into a coughing jag. He keeps retching for a minute until spitting up a huge wad of phlegm, then tries to catch his breath.
I remind him: “You were saying?”
He flings his cigarette at me, re-enters shmancy.
When my “Entire party” arrives, I make a point of walking by his table, wishing him: “Bon appétit!”
Years later, during United Nations General Assembly (our favorite week of the year. Not!), since First Avenue is closed, exiting our garage, as every year, we have to turn west for a half-block on eastbound 40th Street.
Everyone in the garages on the street does it. Never a problem. Until now. I’m stopped by a police car heading east.
Cop’s a clone of George Jefferson from The Jeffersons, short, mustached, balding, black, loud, aggressive. He has an attractive lady officer next to him, for whom I sense he’s displaying his authority:
“What the hell are you doing! This is one way, you idiot! Don’t you see which way the cars are parked! You are creating a hazard!”
Every time I try to explain, he interrupts me: “You are creating a hazard! Don’t argue with me!”
Finally, I tell him he’s right and apologize. He allows me to proceed to Second Avenue.
Waiting for the light, I notice, in my rearview mirror, him confronting the driver that followed me out of the garage. I can’t hear what they’re saying, but can see them yelling at each other. As the light turns, I see him get out, pull the driver out of the car, push him up against it, and cuff him.
Last week, I’m in our local supermarket, perusing my shopping list, when a tiny old lady, leaning on her shopping cart like a walker, resembling Sophia of The Golden Girls, comes over to me:
“I see you support Israel.”
I’m surprised. I don’t know her. Living across the street from both the Israeli consulate and the United Nations, I’ve learned that wearing my Kipa can be a hazard. I’m wearing my daughter’s college visor.
How did she know? I notice her looking at the bottom of my cart at my shopping bags. I hadn’t realized I inadvertently took one with Hebrew printing.
No matter. In these tough times, we welcome support from each other.
I smile, nodding to my Golden Girl: “Yes, I certainly do.”
Whoops! She isn’t golden: “So I guess, genocide doesn’t bother you!”
Great! Even a Hebrew shopping bag is a hazard.
I don’t respond. No point. To paraphrase Jonathan Swift, you can’t reason someone out of position they didn’t reason themselves into.
She persists: “So killing and eating children isn’t a problem as far as you’re concerned!”
Eating children?! Even better! She’s not only a Jew-hater, but also a whack-a-doodle (technical psychiatric term.)
I look at my list: “Thank you for reminding me. Frozen children’s parts. What aisle is that?”
I walk off briskly, leaving her sputtering to herself.
What do these three bullies have in common?
They imagine they’re going to overwhelm us with their anger. They succeeded in the past by dint of wealth, position or age and assume they can do it again.
What are our options to deal with them? We have three:
Positive reinforcement, conceding to them would be inaccurate and unhealthy, degrading ourselves (unless they bear gun and uniform and can drag us to a police station, interminably delaying our trip.)
Negative reinforcement, ignoring them, pretending they don’t exist, is usually the sagacious approach.
If we have the strength and desire, there is also Aversive Conditioning, yelling, arguing, fighting.
I prefer avoiding that because it extends a relationship I want to immediately terminate. If I do however, I mock them. They’re more experienced yelling, arguing, fighting, but they have no expertise in joking because bullies, devoid of self-awareness, lack humor.
Bullies are cowards, only seeking confrontations they think they’ll win. They only win however, if they succeed an intimidating us to alter our opinions.
Boss Hogg and Sophia knew they lost. George Jefferson might’ve thought he won, but with both cars, he raised his blood pressure to accomplish nothing. I still exited to Second Avenue. If he persisted taking the other motorist to the station, he would’ve been eventually released without charges, George reprimanded.
We will always encounter bullies, Hoggs and hazards, but, if we recognize them for what they are, they can never defeat us.
