I was lying in the dirt and the wood chips and the sparse shrubbery. A largeish bump was already beginning to form on the back of my head from where it had impacted with the cement planter behind me. My glasses were in the dirt to my left. A very large man had a hold of my jacket. Seven or eight of his buddies were standing beside and around him. Collectively, they advised me not to stand up.

This happened last night.

Several moments before this I was raising my fist in an ineffective milquetoast swing. Several moments before that he was attempting to blow bubbles in my face with tiny bottle of bubble solution that might have come from a wedding reception or might not have just as easily. Several moments before that I was hurling a coffee cup — the sort that fits atop a insulated vacuum bottle — at the back of his head. And several moments before that he was lifting one of his butt cheeks in the characteristic manner and farting in my face.

I am 28 years-old. I’ll turn 29 next week.

This douchebag was able to fart into my face because I was sitting on a bench drinking a cup of coffee. It was about 10:30 at night. I had arrived early. I had to work the overnight shift last night. The overnight shift begins at 11:00 PM and ends at 7:30 AM. Half-an-hour for “lunch” is unpaid. Every other month I have to come in to work for one weekend — Saturday night and Sunday night — and work the graveyard shift.

I was early in getting to work, unlike the previous night when a decision to take the ‘L’ turned out to be ill-advised and time-consuming. Rather than go inside and wait out the difference in the break room I elected to take a seat outside for 20 minutes or so. The weather was nice.

I was sitting on a bench drinking my coffee preparing myself for 8 more hours of work on 3½ hours of sleep. A squad of men passed by me presumably en route from a local bar. From the looks of them I’d hazard it was a sports bar. The last one in the group stopped in front of me and unmistakably passed gas less than a foot from my face. The malevolence of this act was unquestionable.

This was too much. This was a line crossed. On one side a normal, albeit unpleasant, evening at work. On the other, barbarism. My judgement snapped. This uncivil act I could not allow to go unremarked, despite the obvious disadvantage I faced.

The coffee cup I once held I hurled towards the back of the oaf’s head. I had probably intended to splash it on him. I had probably hoped it was still hot. Scalding. Much of it became a blurry slideshow.

There was much cursing. He played coy, produced a bubble wand, and attempted to blow bubbles at me. I saw red. Not literally. I raised a fist, a worthless gesture for a wimp such as myself. I ended up on the ground with a knot on my head.

I spent the night replaying the incident in my head, imagining what might have transpired had I been quicker or cleverer. There’s no way I could have ever “won” unless I just grinned and let a fucktard stick his ass in my face.

Held down and mocked, I was humiliated just as I was back then in the halls of high school, except I was never actually physically threatened back then. Admittedly, yes, I exacerbated the situation this time. But for fuck’s sake, do we just let these walking abortions just do as they will.

Yeah, we probably do. Just like in high school, meatheaded fucks like these continue to win.