Personally, I just clicked on this (again) to read Stan's story. I had no idea who Alan Douglas-Home was either. But now I do. And I have to remember that I owe Stan some rep for that brilliantly told story. :clap:
As for what I'd do in this situation or that situation, like I've said in discussions revolving around our various democracy spreading, nation building exercises: I think nations should generally mind their own business, as I generally mind my own business. Unless I really know the other person or they're a friend or family member (if we're being honest and not just putting on a show to prove how gallant we are or what a sense of make believe chivalry we have), I do not and will not jump into violent situations that do not concern me. If it involved an elderly person getting beaten down or mugged or a child being abused (something like that), yes, I'd step in. But in the case of a crowd/mob, for all I know, the mob is beating down a child molester. And me jumping in to help him would probably just make the mob think I'm with him. And I'd get some of the same medicine he's getting. And then, my last and departing words would be on my tombstone: "Child molester??? Wait! What???!!!" So the best I can do for him is call 911. And my pal Trooper Buddy has told me so many stories about domestic disturbance calls that he went on in his younger days that the last thing I'd do is jump between a guy and a girl fighting with each other. He almost got a steak knife in the ribs years ago when he took down a Bubba Badass, who was whipping a Daisy Mae's ass in a trailer park. He turned his back on her (the "victim"), and she tried to stick him with the knife when he went to handcuff her "old man". If not for his partner drawing his Beretta and pointing it at her chest, I might not have anyone to bring me that fine clear liquor when we get to the lake on Monday. So not just no, but hell no... I don't get into other people's affairs.
All this makes me think back to (many) years ago when my ex-fiance and I were arguing as we left a mall. A mutual friend of ours used to say that if me and the señorita weren't fucking we were probably fighting - not physically, but we could kick up some dust arguing. Two Type A personalities in a relationship is not a good mix... as I eventually came to realize. So standing in the parking lot, beside my car, there I am at 6'3", looking like I ate steroids for breakfast (back when I was still lifting weights), we were at it hard & heavy about her using my credit card to fund her latest acquisition of Prada shoes or Gucci handbags. And this little well meaning (I'm sure), twerpy looking guy runs up and asks her if she's OK or if she needs any help. He didn't even speak to me - which is what really set me off. All I can remember telling him is how I would fuck him up so bad that his family would need dental records to identify his mangled body. So he looks at her again, like she would appreciate him risking a beating from a crazed mad man and then stand up for him. But what does she do? She looks him dead in the eye, with that arrogant and disdainful look that she could muster SO well, and with a haughty Spanish accent said, "Who are you?! No, who do you think you are?! Get away from me before he kills you!" She could have cut his balls off and it wouldn't have been any more emasculating than what she said to the wannabe Knight in Shining Armor. I almost felt sorry for him as he shuffled away... with that sad, confused look on his face. But he should have minded his own business... or called 911, if he was genuinely concerned for her safety.
Me? I never signed on with King Arthur, never sat at the Round Table, am well past the age that I need to prove how tough I am and I don't wear a badge on my chest. So the best I can do for you is to call 911. :dunno:
My name is Bennet and I ain't in it. :hatsoff:
