Around 8 years old I was in a bowling league, on a team with my older brother and his friends. Since they were a few years my senior, I looked up to them and mirrored their pre-pubescent antics, which included cussing and punching the ball return when things didn't go their way.
A year later I was on a team with kids my age, and to act all big and tough I too began swatting the ball return when I'd miss a spare. It felt good. So I started kicking it. And cursing louder. And louder. I felt a rush of sweet anger, and taking it out on the helpless contraption filled me with deranged, righteous pride. I almost wanted to fail just so I could take it out on this stupid machine that continued to puke balls at me like a taunt.
One day this bad habit, an addiction really, went well beyond unhealthy proportions. After screwing up another frame I found myself kicking and kicking the machine in an unstoppable rage. I was completely broken. That is, until this large man in the next lane stood up and yelled, "what the FUCK ARE YOU DOING?"
I was shocked by the anger directed at me by a very angry stranger and left speechless. He continued, "You stupid little shit you're gonna break the fucking thing! What's your FUCKING PROBLEM?! STOP IT ALREADY! Goddammit!"
All at once it hit me: "What *is* my fucking problem? What the hell am I doing? I'm being totally stupid. Shit."
I was still unable to speak or apologize. I was simply humiliated and drowning in a flood of shame as I sat back down. It was not unlike getting slapped in the face, but sometimes that's the only way to break a cycle of asocial idiocy and teach a lesson - swift, loud and clear - and with such nuclear force there's no room for talking back. I wish I knew who that guy was so I could thank him. I needed that.
Agree