Inside Doug's Head

An encounter with orcs.

Last night, as I was walking home from a modest outing in downtown Sunnyvale, the home of Buffy’s hellmouth, I witnessed a homeless person, formerly known as filthy vagrants, hanging around the west side entrance (a dead end world), waiting for someone to open the gate and let them in so they could dig through the trash and break car windows for loose change. Not wanting to be that someone, I chose to go around to the north entrance.

Once inside the apartment complex, in the outdoor common area, I was confronted by a pair of, shall we say, awful humans (as most of them are) taking their abused and apartment confined dogs for a walk. “Go this way,” she commanded to one of the animals. To which, the dog immediately responded by going in the opposite direction, towards me. “No, this way!” The blob, for I know not its pronouns, repeated the imperative, simultaneously yanking on the leash, which seemed to be attached to the wrong animal in this situation.

Now, to be clear, I don’t hold myself entirely blameless in the exchange that followed. In every interaction, there is a high road, and a low one. As I would, being a smartass in nature, I chose to go the lower road. What I could have said, and what James Bond would have said was, “No worries, it’s all good.” Please bear that in mind: I could have done better.

For context, I had been for a walk in the park earlier in the day, and quite frankly I had become sick and tired of listening to stupid dog owners and parents repeatedly yelling at their respective pets and children from a distance, expecting undeserved obedience. With that point in mind, what I chose to say was a cheeky, “Your dog doesn’t understand English. You have to train them to obey you.”

The truculent fat man (pronoun assumed) replied with a confrontational, “Wahht, did yew say?” It was only then that I realized, he was not a human. He was a big fat orc from middle earth, loathed and hunted by hobbits. Wretched and unwashed. Smellable from a distance. Malevolent at heart and easily provoked.

Knowing better, but persevering nevertheless, I quixotically expounded with a sigh, for orcs are known to be thick in the head, “Just because your dog was born in the US, doesn’t mean he implicitly understands English. You have to train them to respond to your commands. Call Cesar Millan for more information.” The implied, you idiot, was unspoken, yet unquiet in my head.

At once, out of nowhere, except from the place he stood, he took a big overhand swing at me, with his fist clenched into a ball, as if he were going to crush me like a bug. Yes! The irrational orc took a big, fat, Captain Kirk style haymaker swing at me. It’s no wonder the hobbits despise orcs! I could scarcely believe it! Has he not seen Twins? The first thing you should do in conflict is negotiate. You don’t know who your opponent is, what violence they are capable of, or what weapons they might be possessing. And he’s my neighbor! In a supposedly civilized apartment complex! With leases and rules. Your first instinct is to punch someone who challenges your authority over your dumb pets? Section 8 orc tenants are the worst.

Slightly nonplussed, I took a half step back on my right leg, and leaned my upper body away by about six inches to the south east. His wild uncontrolled swing missed by a million miles (hyperbole). Carried by the momentum of his own morbid obesity, the would-be pugilist faceplanted on to the concrete walkway; I think he lost a few teeth as a result.

At this point, wishing I had the incident on video, I could have responded in kind by beating him to death, or at least given him a sound drubbing about the head. Repeatedly smashing his face into the pavement. Taken his wallet, found out who his family was and killed them, too. It’s what you should expect when you adopt a policy of punch first, ask questions later. Stupid idiots. It’s amazing that their brains can generate enough energy to make them walk.

Instead, I chose to mock him, literally adding insult to his injury, “What you should have said was, ‘Sorry, the dogs are not well trained.’ You stupid idiot. Look at you now, tough guy. Idiot” Then, I continued on my way.

The lesson is, don’t talk to strangers. Especially at night, but especially if they are dumb orcs.

—DG