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Testosterone Pride
Testosterone pride: the consistently repeatable phenomena that occurs when a clan of six or so teenage boys board a commuter train and assume the role of attention-seeking dickhead entertainers. You know the ones, you've switched your glance back and forth between disbelief and disgust, trying to maintain a fine balance between giving them no satisfaction at having won your attention, and satisfying your curiosity at this embarrassing display of immaturity.
Part of the attraction that slowly captures your otherwise determined gaze is the fear of danger. Teenage boys fear no-one, have no shame, and unleash their built-up hormonal energy through a bizarre ritual known as the "flinch" test. One active member of the group, usually the most brazen and boisterous, slowly waves a threatening fist near the face of one of his "mates". Without warning, the punch will let fly, waving dangerously close to the colleague's eye, or nose, or mouth, or stomach... and stops short before making contact. But, as one would assume to be the natural response of any human being with functioning eyes and reflexes, the potential receiver "flinches"; even an impressively minimal bat of eyelids or raise of an eyebrow (much less, God forbid, an attempt to defend one's self), and the "flincher" must endure a thumping fist into the upper arm, the infamous "dead arm".
And he just has to take it. Despite the dull pain or immobility of the arm experienced as a result. The dialog associated with this initiation/bonding ceremony is equally as riveting as the action. Macho cries of:
"You fucking flinched again! I can't believe you're so fucking stupid!"
"Aw, fuck you man! You flinched before, I owe you one!"
"Fuck off, I never flinched. Hold him Peter."
BAM!
Ha ha ha ha.
"Hey Chris, there's blood on your lip."
"Fuck! My hand, man! Jesus!"
"Hey, shit. You drew blood man."
"You drew blood, you're the cunt that punched me, you fuck! You should have taken your watch off!"
"Here hold this Jesse, I'll get his other arm."
And so the conversation swings between laughter, camaraderie and beating the shit out of each other, the awkward glances of the rest of the populated carriage showing their lack of patience with these apes.
But of course no one would say anything. Even a sideways glance of disapproval would immediately unite any unrest within the clan, a dangerous group ego capable of anything. So the carriage continue to stare blankly out of the window or at the floor, feigning deafness, until the farcical struggle for peer status continues out of the train door and down the street.
| Posted by Matt at 09:55 /writing # |