“If I had to work with that guy every day I would punch him in the face. Not like, hard enough to damage. Just, like, a lil’ baby punch.” I knew exactly what she meant. Never had I felt so seen at work.
You may have gathered there is no shortage of people I want to punch in the face. Or elsewhere, but the face is most satisfying to imagine. Look, I’m not the only one harboring this secret desire. Jenn Mann has a whole series of books on throat punching.
This came to a head (not a face!) one morning while I was sitting in court. Someone—call him Frank–swanned into the courtroom and my instant, visceral reaction was a Greta Thurnburg style “How DARE you?” This was an outsize reaction and the sane part of me knew it, but the rage part of me didn’t care. The rage part of me was really (irrationally) angry at this person for gaining weight over several years that I knew him.
I know, right? But hear me out. I was angry that I have spent like my whole life either dieting or trying to eat healthfully or trying not to eat. Or eating too much and hating myself. Or coming home starving and circling the kitchen like a shark, eating everything in sight. Feeling guilty for not exercising. Or for exercising but not hard enough. Or exercising but not looking like that girl over there, who probably has time and energy to exercise all the time. Sometimes at the very end of a yoga video I’m supposed to put my hands on my stomach and I get really uncomfortable. Because I hate it. It’s just the mental energy. For years. The shooting for the supermodel body and landing amongst the average American woman.
But this fuckin’ guy. He buys a bigger shirt and goes about his douchey day.
The anger wasn’t about Frank. He was the unfortunate target of my inner vitriol. It was about…I don’t know…the patriarchy? My failure to self-actualize? My multiple failures at Weight Watchers? But it didn’t matter because my anger at the Frank continued in court two weeks later. “Take your goddamn coat off when you talk to the judge,” I mentally yelled, while also mentally kicking him. Just a little.
I was still angry two weeks after that, when that punchable face appeared again. “God I want to punch him in the face.” I also wanted to tell everyone around me that I wanted to punch him in the face but I was at court and not allowed to talk. Every time I looked at him. “I just. Want to punch. Him. Right in the FUCKING FACE.”
After this thought came around for about the 10th time I had a revelation: I don’t actually have to keep entertaining this. I can choose a different thought.
I can hear the sarcasm arising. WhAt? JuSt chOOse? Why didn’t I think of that? But listen, if you’re like me you’re always running thoughts in the background. Just on and on and on. A mile-long train of thoughts. You can hop on the face punching train and ride it all the way to the end of the line without even noticing. You can ride the train around and around and around, getting more heated each time. Eventually you’ll be on blood pressure medication.
Or.
Maybe one day you’ll ride the train around a couple times and suddenly realize you’re still thinking about punching this guy in the face. After Months. Is this really the best use of your time? You’ll get off the train for a while.
Then, you’ll find yourself back on the train, all angry. And then, goddamnit, you’ll think. And get off the train.
Eventually, you’ll get off the train at the second stop.
Maybe a while from now you won’t even get on the train. And it won’t be because you want to punch someone else in the face. You practiced choosing a different train of thought.
Anger can feel delicious. Especially if you’re used to squashing it. And thoughts jump on the wrong train, especially in a courtroom. (Local court is not like Law and Order, y’all). But you can get off the train. Again and again and again. Maybe the next train you’ll get leads to self-acceptance.
Then again, this rage reaction is a common problem in the courtroom. Last week, Frank strolled in (late!). He then proceeded to anger the district attorney, ruffling his besuited feathers until he was pounding on the table. The rest of the room sat with eyes bulging, eating our metaphorical popcorn.
Frank gleefully left the courtroom then, to “look up a statute.” The DA breathed heavily and thought about cigarettes. At the defense table, my friends and I raised eyebrows at one another. The judge announced to the courtroom, “that’s what I call the Frank effect.”
And then I realized, I’m not totally alone with my face-punching urge. I might not be completely irrational. It’s possible that Frank’s behavior triggers violent fantasies, and the only thing preventing a severe beating is the court officers. Knowing I was part of this deranged collective was so comforting.
There’s always more than one way to deal with a problem. If you can’t direct your mind away from anger, find you a colleague who feels the same and meet Frank in a dark alley.
A word of caution, though, it is not wise to punch a lawyer in the face.
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