How to Stop a Fight on Venice Boulevard

Driving West on Venice Boulevard today, traffic was going slow and to my right there was a pickup truck parked behind a sedan. Both cars had the angle that cars have after a small fender bender. Not quite at the curb. But certainly not in traffic. It’s the angle that says, “Let’s get out of harm’s way, but not park exactly.”

On the street side of the two vehicles were presumably the two owners of the cars. An old white guy and a middle-aged Hispanic guy. The latter was clearly stronger than the former.

Though I couldn’t see any damage to either vehicle, something went down and these two guys were yelling at each other. I approached the scene as the Hispanic guy was saying, “Go ahead. Go ahead,” egging the old white guy on to make good on his threat to hit him.

And you know what the stupid old white guy did? He hit him. But kind of old and girlie. And the Hispanic guy hit him back. And then they started kicking and punching each other. In turns.

What was wild about it was neither one of them were punching or kicking to win. (I am not a fighter. But the few times I have hit someone in my life, I have tried to make it a one punch done deal.) So this almost comical fight was going on. Odd half kicks. Half punches. Each guy getting out their aggression, but not hitting hard enough to cause any serious damage.

And there I was in my car and I did think, “This is serious enough so that it should be stopped. Two grown, civilized men. They should not be trying to kick each other’s asses.”

And though I had an impulse to get out of my car to break it up I thought, in my racist way, “What if the Hispanic guy has a gun?”

But then I thought, “The way he is fighting, with almost politeness, I am sure he doesn’t have a gun. And isn’t this fight, still, so oddly controlled in its amplitude?”

But being civilized myself, I felt like I had to do something to stop this fight. And traffic had come to a complete halt, everyone watching this. So I did what anyone who wanted to help but didn’t want to help too much would do. I leaned on my horn...like crazy. To cause, I don’t know, a distraction to the pugilists?

Immediately, all the cars around me started honking their horns with the same kind of cadence that said, “Stop the fighting, you two. You know better. Stop it right this instant.”

And then more horns joined in. And the two men, knowing that they were being watched and judged and honked at, stopped their fighting and got back into their cars.

I loved how the fight had this weird intensity that never got dangerous and how people honked it out of existence.