No shit, there I was. I put it this way because the first thing you need to know about me is I’m an Army Vet. I went to college on the GI Bill, have multiple combat tours, and have had the axiom of “lead from the front, at all times lead from the front!” drilled into my head repeatedly. This served me well in the military, and in life. It’s a shame more people don’t live by it.
I had been working in the gym for almost a month. After teaching my morning fitness classes I ventured into the weight room/mat room to wipe down the equipment from the usual morning work out rush.
Lately the gym has had issues with the contracted cleaning staff and if you plan on keeping a gym going, making sure the equipment is clean is one of the top requirements. With that, I picked up a spray bottle and set up doing the little things I needed to keep my job.
Making it into the mat room I found Mr. MMA, "meditating" as he called it. I call it laying on the mats with your eyes closed taking a post work out nap.
I started working quietly. No production, no "look at me" bullshit. I just wanted to do the job and not deal with Mr. MMA. Halfway through the task Mr. MMA looks up at me and asked "has anyone talked to you about being a manager, Boss Fighter?"
"No" I replied, which is a half-truth. The owner I like said he was pushing for me to get the recently opened up position. However, last night he'd asked me to keep a lid on that information.
"Let me ask you something, Boss Fighter. Are you an arrogant man?" A look of grave concern now plastered on Mr. MMA's face.
booooooooooooooog
The Kung Fu Movie Zen gong sounded in my head and all I could think was: fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!
Spray bottle in my hand and a can't win situation in front of me I split the difference.
"I think I'm confident," I replied. "But I think the problem with that question, Mr. MMA, is that the difference is often as much about how you are perceived as how you present yourself."
"There is no real difference Boss Fighter,” he tells me, attempting to have great gravity and depth in his voice. It sounded like an Asian guy imitating David Carradine’s character did in the "Kill Bill" movies.
"How so Mr. MMA?" I ask in an attempt to be polite.
At this point, I'm pretty sure I already know the answer because we all know a guy like Mr. MMA. The person who’s read "The Book of the Five Rings," so now they are the next coming of the Buddha. It only makes it worse that Mr. MMA is Asian and speaks with a slight accent. The only way he could be more cliche is if he started calling me "young grasshoppa."
"Confident people," Dr MMA intones, "carry that confidence on the inside, they are humble on the outside.”
No shit, really? I thought real confidence was, like, a superficial thing. And why does this have to be all about a “he,” you sexist fuck? Can’t women be confident? Sadly, having that sort of equal rights discussion wouldn’t have been well received.
"An arrogant man,” Mr. MMA blathered on, “is one who carries that feeling on the outside. It is for others to see and he does it selfishly, he is not humble, he is not magnanimous. He is proud.” Mr. MMA then proceeded to spend the next five minutes talking about all the things that he has done in his life. How his graduate degrees shaped him. How all his martial arts training has helped him on his journey. How successfully he has navigated the treacherous waters of business so well and so successfully, leading him to ask me:
“Do you think you have some life experience, Boss Fighter? Do you have a background that has instilled wisdom and humility into your life?”
“Well I have to say being in the Army was a pretty humbling experience…” I started...
“I haven’t known you well enough to judge, but most military guys I’ve met are horrible, Boss Fighter. At tournaments, I’ve met Green Berets and Navy SEALS and Marines and they are all…” He paused to let his disgust build before he spewed, “…lazy. They are generally unfocused and undisciplined men, Boss Fighter. And all of them are arrogant, proud men. I won’t let one of my yellow belts, let along a black belt, fight any of those military guys. I don’t want my students to become corrupted by their poor work ethic.”
The breath I took can only be described as proof that serenity now works. I’m proud to tell people I’m a Vet. I've always felt honored to have served my country. I may not have Mr. MMA’s graduate degrees. I kicking down doors and leading men into combat. Apparently, in Mr. MMA’s world, that sort of experience doesn’t count for anything- at least at Martial Arts tournaments.
"So tell me Boss Fighter are you confident and humble, or are you proud and arrogant?"
Ha, yeah. Like that isn’t a loaded question after your little anti-military rant. You fucking asshole. I thought, biting the inside of my mouth. Reminding myself for the 4th time in the past minute to just keep breathing. I could give fuck all about your definition of success. I’m much more of a “do or do not” type of guy, but you don’t want to hear that. Nor do you want to hear how much I wish I could spray and wipe out your mouth with the disinfectant in my hand.
All those thoughts flying through my head and what do I say? "I'm probably a little of both."
Nice Boss Fighter, very smooth. That-a-way to tell him something.
"All men are vain Boss Fighter,” Mr. MMA decided that we needed to have another lesson from his school of Zen. “All men have vanity, but what I wonder about you is if you have enough of a handle on your vanity to be a good manager, to be a leader. I have lead groups from 1 to 100. Managed task from putting the lock on a door to the building of a building…"
I want to fucking fight you. God DAMNIT I want to fight you. I want to just step in and put my fucking shin upside your smug fat head and keep driving until you are out cold on the fucking mat! Was all I could think - over and over again, like the skip prone Beatles record I had as a kid.
"Rarely, Boss Fighter, very rarely…" Mr. MMA said with raised voice, snapping me out of my violent daydream. “...have I met a good leader who isn't at least 40-50 years old and making 200-300k a year."
What the fuck, asshole? I thought, thinking of my former Platoon leader, my 24-year-old squad leader, of the girl who spoke at my commencement in college. At 22 she’d started two non-profits to help fight 3rd world poverty and was studying at Cambridge.
Finally, mercifully, he patted me on the shoulder. Then, as he walks away, he reminds me to wipe down where he was just laying.
Watching him walk out of the mat room I had one single, solitary, burning thought: I’m going to fucking fight you. I’m going to hit you in the mouth, and keep hitting you till you’re out cold on the floor, Mr. MMA. I’m going to beat that smug look off your face. I’m going to smile gleefully as you become the latest victim of pride going before the fall. I’m going to fucking fight you.
And in 362 Days, I am.
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