Al Sterling: Violent Blogger

Well, it's not what I wanted the title to be. I wanted to title it

"Al Sterling: Warrior Poet"

In the past few weeks I've had a pair of run ins that weren't... well, they weren't the most peaceful moments of my life. I've already regaled a few of view with the tales, but I was told that this is the kinda stuff people want to read about, not my silly insights on a county they don't care about and why don't I share some good stuff. Well, I edited the blog on Seoul's seedy underbelly, so I'll give ya what ya want.

But the title.

Well, "Warrior" isn't accurate. I know what I picture when I think 'warrior' and I'm just not fitting the bill. And then comes "poet". Hardly. I mean, I could use it tongue in cheek, but then someone else might read this and think that anyone who happens to throw together a blog can attach the word "poet" to their list of titles. Nay. Robert Frost was a poet. I'm a 27 year old guy blogging on a laptop, half as a way to process everything that's happening out here and half for fun. I won't demean the word 'poet'.

Hence, violent blogger. But hey, let's make sure I at least earn this title, shall we?

Here's one of two:

I had just wrapped up a particularly long shift at Rocky Mountain Tavern, where I do that volunteer work I mentioned. The bar was starting to wind down, and looking to close soon. Mind you, there is no time when they have to stop serving. Most bars close when the bar empties. Unless the manager has to be up the next morning, like this round, in which they just decide to wrap up. Ok, so, Jen is with me, and we're grabbing a drink and chilling out before heading home. The bar still has a few dozen people in it, and I'm tired, so I leave Jen at the table and go to get paid.

Important side note: RMT is owned by Canadians, but employed by Koreans. They all speak English, to a greater or lesser degree. In this case, slightly to the lesser.

As I walk over to Andy, a Korean who is also a manager, I notice that there is a drunk guy yelling at him. Now, Andy isn't a big dude by any means. He's about as tall as me and as thick as Eli. But I'm pretty sure he can handle himself, so I just sit back and wait.

If you aren't proud of me for that, by the way, you should be.

After waiting and watching, a few things become clear.

1. Andy can't understand a whole lot of what this guy is saying. Which isn't really Andy's fault, I'm having trouble following.
2. There are a lot of other large drunk men taking a keen interest in this, never a good sign.
3. The drunk guy isn't winding down, he's just building up a head of steam.
4. I'm not getting paid until this is over.

Well, that's enough for me. I walked over to the group now beginning to circle and asked the drunk guy what the problem was. He explained some girl down the bar had just stolen money from him, and if Andy didn't take care of it, then he would... something... I couldn't tell. Addressing the group (but focusing on the gathering men), I explained with a smile that the bar is going to be forced to call the police here if things keep getting so tense. And I didn't know about them, but I didn't want to know what the inside of a South Korean prison looks like. All of the sudden the gathering of guys had no clue who the drunk guy was, and they just wanted to make sure everything was ok, but now they had to go. That dealt with, I went down to girl at the end of the bar, who was happy to explain, with quite a few extra expletives, that she had ordered a pair of shots for her and her friend, and then he had come up and grabbed one off the bar and drank it right in front of her. For some reason, he felt it wise to leave a wad of cash on the bar. The girl decided that would do for payment, and took it. Which led to our current situation.
After some discussion, the girl apologizes to me and pulls out the cash, which she hadn't even bothered to count. Came to about $30, along with... well, let's just say it should have stayed in his wallet.

Anyway, she says she's keeping $10, but gives me the rest of it. I go back and let him know I got his money. He asks me how much I got, insisting she took $100.

I hate drunks.

I smile my very last smile, and tell him that he's wrong. I give him $20, plus his personal effects, and tell him to keep his hands to himself. He proceeds to get in my face and demand his other $80.

As I said, I'd already smiled my last smile. No, I didn't hit him.

I did get back in his face and tell him to take his money and get out of the bar before I tossed him down the stairs (he fell, I saw it). And if he EVER started trouble in this bar again, I'd have the police take him straight to jail. Period. He still had a little fight left in him, but at this point he's only asking for $10, and an escort out (he didn't mean me). Andy gets $10 from the bar and throws an arm around his shoulder, and they almost get to the door when drunky turns suddenly and goes nose to nose with Andy.

Now folks, I'm not a warrior. I know it. But I've been in enough tussles to recognize someone who can hold their own. And folks, Andy could hold his own. He stood there, smiling, as the drunk bathed him in what had to be some horrible breath. I couldn't catch what was said, but when he was done Andy's arm was back around him and they walked to the stairs.

In case you're wondering, Andy wasn't upset at me getting involved. He didn't quite follow what the guy wanted, but he was wanting to know. So I did good.

Overall, it was fun.

But the next one was a bit more intense.

Remember I mentioned the golbi night with our boss?

Here's what happened afterwards.

I am standing outside the restaurant with my boss and his assistant. We're all feeling pretty good. Out of nowhere, and I mean that, three guys come up, and one of them gets directly in my boss's face.

Ok, gotta do that Important Side Note thing again:

1. None of us are sober. In Korean culture, the men drink. Your boss pours you a drink, refusing it is just about the same as slapping him across the face. You take what he offers you. And he's likely to offer you several.
2. My boss is a sweet guy, and wouldn't harm a fly. He's just really happy, and mostly talks about his wife and new baby girl.
3. His assistant makes him look like an American Gladiator.

But back to the action.

Now, in case you're new here, I hate bullies. High school wasn't always kind, and middle school was horrible. As I got bigger, and I was able to deal with them, any patience I had left for bullies vanished. Ten years, a few thousand miles, and a language barrier doesn't change a thing. A bully is a bully is a bully, and they're easy to spot.

However, I don't want to do anything to make my boss look bad. So I decide to make this guy go away, quick and easy. I stepped between him and my boss, and despite the aforementioned language barrier I still managed to get my point across pretty quickly. He decided, like I figured, that this wasn't fun anymore. He and his two buddies wandered around behind the building and into an alley.
Mr. Yea pretended like nothing happened, and so I followed suit. We were laughing together about a minute later when another foreign teacher, one who had a bit more than I, finally heard about what happened. I only know this because he gave a primal yell (yes, really) and tore off around the building after the guy. Three other guys follow, and figuring this was about to go badly I went along. About halfway I realize I'm wearing a backpack containing a brand new laptop. Tuning, I see Jen. I leave the backpack for her, and catch up to the crowd.

Our foreign teacher (we'll call him Mike) is a big dude. Seriously, he's built like Johnny Bravo. He's screaming (in English) at this guy, issuing a long string of threats. His buddies don't seem all that excited at the prospect of helping, seeing as with my arrival they're outnumbered 6 to 3. The look in Mike's eyes makes me a little nervous. He's got at least 60 lbs on the other guy, and while I don't think Mike would have killed him, he could have easily broken a bone or two. The other teachers are trying to talk Mike down, but nothing doing. So I step right between them.

My "Korean prison" speech didn't do much good here. Mike kept trying to shove past me, and the Korean bully, now feeling safer with something separating him from Death, started shoving me into him. After a brief exchange, our boss figures out what's going on and comes running. He is finally able to calm Mike down, and two other teachers walk Mike away. We all follow. Done, right?



Mr. Yea is a little behind me. I glance over my shoulder in time to see this same guy come running full speed at him, stop short, and slap him across the face. At this point, I've started to lose my cool.

I stepped between them again, and shove the bully myself, putting a bit of my weight behind it. He staggers back a few steps, and then comes up and slaps me. It didn't hurt, and somehow I still didn't completely lose it, so all I did was return the slap. Granted, a little harder, but still. We're eye to eye, and some more shoving begins to happen when I hear Mike start yelling something about how I'm not so peaceful now that I'm the one there instead of him (I know, I know, it doesn't make sense). He's not accurate, but I still know my boss is standing there, and he doesn't want a fight. So I stop shoving, and tell him to go home. Then I turn and walk away. Proud of me, right?

Son of a gun charges my boss again.

Now, I'll never be able to do this again. But as he ran past me I managed to catch him in the most perfect half nelson I've ever done. He started struggling, and I cranked that hold until it was hurting him pretty bad. Once that happens, here comes Mike again. Mike barrels back up on us, pulls back and socks the guy in the face. He goes a little limp in my arms, and I put him down, not really happy with this turn of events.

His buddies aren't even close to being involved. But one is on the phone, and the crowd inside is starting to come outside. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to deduce what's about to happen now.

So I start to make my way out. I'm in the back, keeping Mr. Yea in front of me, when the stupid moron goes for one more rush. I don't have the patience for anything fancy. He comes charging blindly, head down. I wrapped my arm around his head and started squeezing.

Now, my headlocks are one of my best holds. I've got decent arms, and I know where to squeeze, having been on the wrong end of them quite a few times. I'm trying to get someone to tell him to stop, no one seems able to translate for me. He stops struggling against me, and I loosen my grip. Then he lunges forward and knocks me on my butt. I'm done. I put all I've got into it.

Now, I need to pause here and clarify that my fellow teachers have not abandoned me here. They're right there with me. I'm not leaving them out on purpose, but in these moments it's hard to keep a close track on what's not directly in front of you. Regardless, I have to give credit where credit is due. The guys here are some tough cookies. If you've got to get into an altercation, these are the guys you want next to you. Not as good as my boys back home, of course, but certainly the next best thing.

So I'm on my butt, this guy still squirming and I'm still squeezing. Along comes Mike, once again, and this time lands an even harder punch right to the top of the head. Our moronic bully finally goes down for the count. I'm not happy about it at all, but we are way past being able to talk about that now. Very quickly I get up, and start trying to find my wife, my backpack, and a taxi. In that order. Mr. Yea steps up, and starts trying to make sure I'm ok. Apparently, most of the girls have only now realized something happened, and are gathering around asking questions (not my wife- more on that in a moment). Basically, just slowing me down.

And here he comes again.

This time, the fight has gone out of him though. He comes up and apologizes to Mr. Yea, and then to me. He starts hugging and shaking hands. I'm WAY past wanting to deal with him, but a cop car chooses that moment to pull into the alley literally just as I leave it. I mean I could have reached out and touched it. But that'd be dumb.

Enter my wife.

I've dated a few girls in my life. Most of them, in a case like this, would have jumped in the middle and tried to stop it. A few would have been angry with me over the whole thing. At least two would have jumped in. One would have hurt someone. But not the woman I married. First she grabbed the backpack, and made sure all the expensive stuff was safe. She had no idea why there was a brawl going on, but she stayed where she could see without getting in the way, and the moment it was clear that it was (finally) over, she had a cab waiting for us. We piled in and made good our escape.

Dear Lord, I love my wife.

And, for the record, she could have taken the bully, hands down. My wife hits hard. I know.

So that's the two tales. I'm not as young as I used to be. I'm not at an age where I really want to fight, but I have to say I also found myself considering things that never crossed my mind before. I was more than a little concerned about Jen, and making sure she was safe. At no point was she in danger, of course, but that never stops me from worrying. But I've always felt that, as a healthy 20-something male that can at least hold his own, I've got a... well, a kind of obligation, to help out where I can in cases like these. But the idea of having a child is a very real one for Jen and I, and what is worth fighting for, and risking, is changing rapidly for me. It's not as black and white as it use to be. As a youth minister I always knew that if danger came to my youth, I'd be there to protect them. Of course, when Danger showed up it was my fault. But that's not the point.

I guess the whole thing has led me to take a look at this corner of myself. I've gone from being bullied to wanting to protect anyone and everyone from bullies, and now that doesn't seem to be as good an idea as it once was. If that police car had been two minutes earlier, while one American was holding down a Korean while another American knocked him senseless, what would have happened? I know that I would have had several Koreans who would have attested to what actually happened, but I can't take risks like that as carelessly as I once did. There are other people counting on me that are just too important.

All that said, I don't think I'd do anything different in either scenario. I don't know how well I've done at explaining it, but the truth is I did what I felt had to be done. Maybe next time I'll let Mike dig his own grave, but maybe not. My help there certainly wasn't asked for, or appreciated, then or later. All part of growing up, I guess.

I ain't as good as I once was...
I got a few years on me now...
But there was a time, back in my prime, when I could really lay it down...
So if you want to fight tonight, well I guess those boys don't look all the tough.
I ain't as good as I once was,
But I'm as good once
As I ever was.
-Toby Keith, "As Good As I Once Was"


Peace.
-Al