The Elbow of Resolution
Despite what passivists claim, there are certain instances when a little violence actually can solve problems.
8/29/24
By: Daniel Miller
As an experienced traveler, one of the most annoying things a person can do on a bus is watch videos or play games with the volume turned up so loud that everyone can hear. Most people are courteous enough to use headphones, but every so often I will come across some self-absorbed, inconsiderate clown who forces everyone to listen to what he’s watching. The people who use the speaker feature to talk on the phone are bad enough, but at least I know that the conversation likely won’t last very long.
While traveling around Georgia, I decided to spend a couple of nights in Mestia, a remote northern village nestled in the Caucasus Mountains. To get there, the only option I had from Zugdidi was a minibus in which the seats were too close together for my knees to fit, so I had to face them towards the aisle on my right side.
Sitting next to me was an ethnic Georgian from the north. Slender, presumably late twenties, and completely absorbed in the videos playing on his phone. The language was in Georgian, which I knew because his speakers worked quite well. After turning my head a few times and staring at his phone for a couple of seconds, hoping that he would ascertain from my body language that he was being obnoxious, I took my headphones off from around my neck and handed them to him.
Without hesitation, he took the headphones and placed them in his lap, barely looking away from his screen the entire time. A bit confused but also noticing the direction this situation was quickly taking, I took them back and, using a translator, asked if he needed to borrow them. Shaking his head, he showed me a pair that he had in his pocket but then proceeded to put them away again. I asked if he could use them and he said “no” while brushing my phone away. Then I asked if he could turn down the volume, so in response, he turned it all the way up. Frustrated, I told him that he was being rude.
By now, he was getting annoyed and didn’t even want to read the translator. I didn’t know what else to do at that point, but I wasn’t going to continue tolerating his blatant disrespect for everyone else.
I wasn’t going to keep my mouth shut, so I started cussing him as I straightened myself back out, facing the aisle. He may not have spoken any English, but he understood what I was saying because he jumped up and started punching me in the side of the head! He hit me about four or five times with what were the softest punches I have ever felt. I was never even sore afterward. As he was hitting me, I forced myself to acknowledge the reality of the situation so I could properly respond.
I stood up and turned around to face him. As much as I wanted to hit him in the jaw with a left hook, the seat was already up against my left leg, and I felt that my right hand would’ve been slow and telegraphed because my stance was square. Those familiar with combat sports will understand that throwing a punch in that stance without a way to utilize proper footwork would have been awkward and ineffective. Any punch I threw would have been a bit awkward and completely ineffective. However, there was enough room to move my right foot forward in between the seats, so I lunged forward and hit him with a right elbow, connecting on the side of his mouth between his nose and top lip. I am still unfamiliar with the Georgian self-defense laws and didn’t want to get in trouble for inflicting more damage than might seem necessary, so I proceeded to grab him in an attempt to maneuver some kind of chokehold. Over the years, I have learned that the general public responds a lot better to someone passing out in a nonviolent manner than getting violently knocked unconscious.
The plan didn’t last long because people started breaking us apart, which was fine with me. We separated, and I switched seats with the guy in front of me, who turned out to know my assailant. I caught a glance at the blood in his teeth, which he also noticed as he sat down. I sat in my new seat for around ten or fifteen seconds, staring at the side door trying to process what just transpired. I kept my composure, but I was still heated. Using the translator, I asked the friend why he would attack me like that, to which he said he didn’t know. I mentioned my background in martial arts and how he shouldn’t have done what he did. The bus soon stopped in a remote location for gasoline, and there just happened to be an abandoned feedlot next to it.
I had to pee, so I needed to walk down the hill to the feedlot anyway, but since the two got out for a smoke break, I decided to let the guy have a fair chance to finish what he so confidently started. “You want to go down there?” I asked, pointing to the abandoned area and signaling with my head. Both seemed confused, so I pointed at him directly and motioned my hand and fingers towards me. “Come on, let’s go down there” I repeated. “Come on.”
I can’t say that I was too surprised when he shook his head no. I was going to let the situation die right there, but as I turned to go down the hill, the driver hurried around the corner of the bus to make sure that everything was calm. I shook his hand reassuringly and, through the translator, explained what happened. I asked if he could talk to him for me, and he agreed. Once I made it back to the bus, my old enemy stuck out his hand. We gave each other a bro hug and proceeded to get back on the bus. He never played his phone again for the remainder of the trip.
We later stopped at a small restaurant. The two went inside while I stayed outside and talked with a couple of passengers. After they finished, they walked outside for a smoke and to finish their beers. Since they were close to me, I asked him if his mouth wasn’t hurt too bad, and we got to talking. His name was Marki, and he was from a village outside of Mestia. It didn’t take him long to notice my cauliflower ears, which started an entirely new conversation. He asked me for my Instagram account soon after we got back on the bus and proceeded to give me the first of two apples he would later offer.
Our bus had to wait about 20 minutes for a construction crew to finish pouring a load of concrete into wall forms on the side of the mountain. I walked over to watch them work, and the bus driver soon stood next to me, smiled, and patted me on the shoulder. A few minutes later, Marki was there with another apple for me. I’m happy the course of events played out the way they did after the elbow. Nobody got seriously hurt and the police didn’t get involved, both of which are always positive outcomes.
Even though Marki and I are cool now, I still feel like he deserved an elbow to the face that day. Fifteen years of sparring in mixed martial arts and jiu jitsu gyms taught me the skills necessary to throw a calculated elbow instead of wild punches, while three years of MMA competition taught me discipline and how to remain calm in tense situations. While I seriously try to avoid conflict as much as possible, I also feel that sometimes people deserve, and even need, as the legendary rapper Eminem once said, “a good, old-fashioned, patented ass-whoopin’.”
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