Everyone knows the first rule of Fight Club – you do not talk about Fight Club.
This is easy to keep to if you’re not much of a scrapper. Sure you might have the wayward fantasy of blasting someone with your lungs or your fists, but for the most part, at this stage, in this game, we keep it to ourselves.
After all, we have reputations to uphold, examples to make.
That is until you find yourself in a place where you can’t help but let it rip. And in recent weeks I have had not one but two Fight Club challenges that I couldn’t resist.
The first took place in the early morning at a Jamba Juice. I was rushing (as usual), and my daughter wanted to pick up a smoothie for a friend’s birthday. I jammed into a parking spot in front of the store, and my daughter and I hopped out with the intention of getting in and out quickly.
“You’re parked awfully close to me,” the guy in the spot next to me said. He was sitting in his truck, window opened as it waiting for someone… or maybe something.