He came in, a large, dark, somewhat [pudgy] man. He asked to use our phone, so I let him. He dialed a number, then proceeded to [scream] at the person he was calling.

He was screaming about how two [Iranian]s had [screwed] him out of a lot of money. He was cursing wildly and was using a wide variety [racial slurs]. So I told him that if he wanted to use the phone, he'd have to [stop using that language].

He paid no attention to me and then went on to say, "I'll tell you how we handle this in the [Green Berets]... I've got a [fucking] [9mm] at home, and those two immigrants are [fucking dead]. I'll do what needs to be done."

At which point I told him to [leave].

Instead of doing so, he slammed down the phone and proceeded to [threaten] me for the next 20 minutes. He was carrying on about how he fought for my [right] to have this [bookstore], he watched his buddies [die] for my right to have this bookstore, he could do anything he [damn well pleased], and I'd better not dare [fuck] with him. He kept on gesturing toward his pocket, which on closer inspection I noticed held a fairly large [knife].

The [scary part] about it was that he was so... [maniacal]. One second he'd be screaming at me, looking ready to [lunge] across the counter, and the next he'd be apologizing, perfectly [calm], only to start up again. He was pretty [drunk], but not enough to impair his movements. He was holding the phone, so I couldn't call for help, and my manager was out on [errands].

By now most of the [customers] had left, except one. He came up to me that he was a [Marine] and asked if I needed [help]. I told him to [hold that thought], just in case I couldn't talk the guy down.

I did manage, but only after letting him make another call, which he ended with, "But this [pansy]-assed [pussy] store owner (to clarify, I was only a [clerk]) wants me to leave. Guess I should teach him too, huh?" He then asked me to find a [book] for him, which we didn't have. So he yelled at me a little more, then staggered out.

At this point I decided having a [nervous breakdown] would be nice, so [I went ahead and did so].

All right, so I get threatened and [scared out of his wits]. What does this have to do with[anything]? How is this at all important to anyone but me?

Well, if it hadn't been for one thing that he said, [nothing]. But there was one thing he kept on saying whenever I'd try to speak up. I wasn't trying to argue with him (I could tell from the beginning that wouldn't work and would only make him more upset), I was just trying to [calm] him. But he kept on cutting me off, saying, "No, [you fucking listen]! You've probably never listened to anyone like me your entire life. None of [you] do. But you're going to fucking [listen] [right now]!"

And the thing is, in his own way, he was right. How often do any of "[us]" listen to any of "[them]"?

No, I'm not talking about "us" and "them" in any of the terms you might think. Not [racial], not [economic], nothing you can [put your finger on] directly. It just isn't that [simple].

But you know what I'm saying. You know what I mean when I say "us." Those who [think] as a [hobby]. Who talk about "them" in terms of [what has to be done] with "them." Who work in [bookstore]s, in [school]s, in [businesse]s, in the [government], in the [media]. We only listen to each other, because "they" never have anything to say that's of use to "us." I'm not making any distinction between the [liberal]s and [conservative]s here. We both claim to [champion] "them," because it makes us feel [good], [righteous].

[Mind you], a lot of "us" are [sincere] about it. Sure, most of "us" can be more sincere when "they" are just [numbers], [statistics], [recipients] of such and such a [program]. And some of "us" even dedicate our lives to helping "them"; they become the [social workers] whom we [avoid] almost as much as "them."

And as for "them," well, "they" are the ones we make [do] things for "us," because "they" are not smart] enough to do things for themselves. [Fight our wars], [join our unions], [vote our party], [clear our path], thenleave "us" alone. [Leave us alone] to talk about how "we" would be so much better off without "them," and how "we" should let "them" [destroy] themselves.

It's not just about [intelligence]. It's where you are, what you have. If anything, it's about the [words] you use.

And his words were a [mantra]. "I did [such and such] so you could such and such." An almost [thoughtless] mantra, because he had only the slightest [idea] of what he was saying, and could barely grasp the full [significance] of his words. He understood that something wasn't [right], but all he had was a [belief], not an idea. This belief that the [world] had done [injustice] after injustice to him, after he had done so much.

And part of him understood that the person in front of him was related somehow, if in a [distant fashion]. Someone standing in his way, someone he could [batter] down. So all that came from his mouth was [gibberish], with a [kernel of truth] that was almost completely drowned. Digging himself into the same hole he always has been, a hole where he is [dangerous], but [useful].

But there was that one kernel of truth. I would have never listened to him before. And I didn't really listen to anything else he said, because he was [ignorant], [violent], [bigoted] and [drunk]. For [right] or [wrong], I shut him out because of it. He became one of "them," and there was no use listening.

But I listened to that one [part], and I felt [sick]. Sick because I was so scared that he was going to [hurt] me. Sick because I was simultaneously aware of what this meant from my [perspective], and what it meant in [the broader picture]. A broader picture which I couldn't [move beyond] no matter how hard I tried.

For me, it was a scary, ignorant drunk [pushing me around].

For the world, it was another frightened intellectual cowering from "them." An intellectual who was afraid, because he couldn't [break the cycle], or even begin to understand.

Us and Them (idea)