My hood

The very same evening of the day we moved, we were sitting in the Iron Hill Brewery, a neighborhood bar, having a couple of beers to celebrate our move and also because why can't a guy just have a beer if he wants to? We weren't sitting per se because there were no seats available at the bar so we did the next best thing, which is standing. As we were standing, we were waiting for someone at the bar to leave. We scouted out all the people sitting at the bar and sorted them in descending order of probabilities of imminent departure. People who had the table buzzer and were just sitting at the bar waiting to be buzzed when their table would become available were the highest on the list. Then came those who were eating but had a nearly empty plate. So after a quick discussion, we decided to choose a couple who had a table buzzer and kept gazing frequently in the direction of the foyer as if they were expecting to be called soon because it meant that they had been waiting for a while. And so, as is the protocol, we planted ourselves behind the couple and I began humming to myself, a low irritating hum in order to hasten their departure. I also ordered a beer, a light lager if you must know.

About five minutes later, another couple entered the bar area. They observed the lack of bar seats. Then, they looked around, walked over to our couple, tapped them on their shoulder and spoke to them. I wasn't worried. They probably knew each other, were probably double dating and would be sharing the same table after they left the bar area.

But my wife, with her keener powers of observation and hearing, believed otherwise.

"The woman just asked the guy to place his hand on the barstool", hissed my wife.

It was then that I realized what had just happened. In a display of nonchalant brazenness, the newer couple had calmly walked in, asked the sitting couple if they were leaving and on being told yes, were preparing to assume control of the barstools.

Now usually, I am not a very pro-confrontation kind of guy. If challenged, my favorite response, like that of the armadillo, is to curl up in a ball, pretend I am dead and let the threat pass me by, relying on my hard overlapping epidermal scales called "scutes" to protect me from predators. These scutes are mainly composed of bone with a covering of horn.

But that day was different. I had just moved into my new home. I was a home owner. And I was hanging out in my own fucking brand new hood which I had taken a vow to serve and to protect. I would be damned if I let somebody push me around in my own hood. It wouldn't be a good start to a new citizenship.

"Apun ke ilake mein aake apun se hi panga?", I asked my wife with puzzled amusement. "Why are you speaking in Hindi", she asked me. I don't know, it just felt like Hindi time.

Soon, the couple who were seated began to make preparations to leave. The new arrival's grasp on the barstool became tighter. He must have become aware of my intentions. This guy was tall, well-muscled and wearing a cap, which is always a reliable forbearer of an aggressive demeanor. And he was with a girl. Again, not a good sign. And to make matters worse, I was Indian. If you're a white dude with a chick and you lose a philosophical battle with an Indian guy wearing glasses, chances of you getting some tonight would probably be slim to none. Just too emasculating.

But I wasn't daunted. I had already decided. I wasn't gonna go quietly into the night. I wasn't gonna vanish without a fight. I was going to live on. I was going to survive. Today, I would be celebrating my independence day.

As the seated couple got up to leave, two things happened. One, they got up from my opponent's side. And two, this forced him to release his grip on the barstool to give them the right of way. Grabbing my opportunity, I pushed my wife into the vacated area in the form of an initial invasion.

The guy looked dumbfounded.

"What are you doing", he asked me.

I replied, "Taking our seats. Why?"

"What? What are you talking about? These are our seats", he said.

"Sorry buddy, I was here before you. These are our seats", I responded.

"Well, those guys gave us their seats before they left", he said.

"Well, they can't do that. These aren't their seats to give". The balls on this guy.

"Well, whose seats are they then?", he asked me, confident that he had trapped me in a corner.

"These seats belong to the restaurant", I said. Also, fire is hot and water is wet.

"Buddy, these seats belonged to those people. Then, when they left, they gave them to us". He was certainly making a good attempt at an argument.

In order to calm down and keep myself from jumping up and down screaming "Goddamnit are you a fucking idiot", I tried to imagine that I was explaining this to a little child. "Okay, when those people left their seats, they returned those seats that they had temporarily borrowed back to restaurant ownership. Once that happens, the next person in line gets those seats. Which is us."

"Well, how do I know that you were next in line? Maybe you just came in."

"Well, how about we ask the guy who's been serving me beer for the past 15 minutes?" I was bluffing because I doubted that the bartender serving me beer for the past 15 minutes would recognize me. Also, I had only been there for 5 minutes. But the bluff succeeded nevertheless. The guy looked at the glass of beer in my hand and conceded defeat.

"Alright, how about we let each of the ladies have a seat?" I couldn't believe it. I had won. I had actually confronted someone and won. Well, maybe it wasn't a complete victory but at least I hadn't lost.

So we sat there some more and I drank some more beer and my wife drank tea and then just as we were getting up to leave, a guy who had just entered the bar asked me, "Hey are you guys leaving?" Yeah, I said. "What amazing luck", said the guy. "Thanks for the seats".