The John Smith Incident

This blog is mostly a chronicle of stupid and unfortunate incidents that, for whatever reason, happen to yours truly. (Sometimes I think it’s because the Great Oski in the Sky has been crying so much recently that he needs to pick on me for occasional comic relief.) Then there are stories like this – stories of a truly and uniquely Berkeleyan nature. It’s a story that I like so much and is so memorable that it deserves its own timeless moniker.

1770 gave us the Boston Massacre, the spark that ignited the volatile powder keg culminating in the American Revolution. 1982 gave us The Play, a series of events so zany and improbable that a name so simple would suffice. 2009, appropriately, gave us The Pick, one of the most exciting single plays in Big Game history. Now, I give you The John Smith Incident, admittedly an event nowhere near a tier of importance high enough to warrant uses of definite articles nor unnecessary capitalizations. False advertising? Perhaps. If you have a problem, take it up with HR.
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TheYoc, Teeks, EZ-E, BarackObinna and I went to one of the local cheap-o college student eateries in the Asian Ghetto, Thai Basil, to celebrate our men’s basketball team’s victory over that ketchup-and-mustard school in South Central L.A. There’s nothing unusual about a group of college-age friends grabbing some late-night grub. Once you add one cup of Berkeley crazies, stir in two teaspoons of irreverent and misdirected anger, broil at 400 degrees, and garnish with a sprinkling of crack, though, you’re playing in a whole new ball game.

The five of us, jolly and hungry from the excitement of the game, were sitting around the table in the restaurant, minding our own business, eating away, when somebody brought up the film Avatar. Time for a “Ugh, I HATE it when Gordo gives these snobby film snob opinions” moment:

I did not like Avatar.

There, I said it. The visuals were certainly stunning and provided for three hours decent entertainment – a hallmark of James Cameron films. The plot, however, was unoriginal and the acting shoddy at best – the other major hallmark of James Cameron films. As far as I’m concerned, a pretty face does not a good mother make. The plot devices were serviceable, but I was pretty bored by the one-hour mark. Also: sorry, Sigourney, you know I love ya, but even your star power couldn’t overcome one of the absolute most poorly attempted American accents in the history of film. (Apparently, Jake Sully is a cross between a paraplegic American soldier and a half-Australian, half-British man with a speech impediment.) Honestly, if you’ve seen Dances With Wolves or Disney’s Pocahontas, you’ve seen Avatar. Still don’t believe me? Boom.

During the heated discussion between EZ-E and myself regarding the quality of Avatar and why Zoe Saldana is still smoking hot whether she plays a hot college cheerleader, a hot intergalactic linguist, or a hot big blue cat-Smurf-thing, I brought up the parallel between characters of Pocahontas and Avatar. While I was emphatically comparing Jake Sully to John Smith, characters so similar that Cameron did not even bother to change their first initials, a bystander chimed in:

Guy: “Y’all talkin’ ‘bout John Smith?”
Us: “Ummm…yeah?”
Guy: “Yeah, that guy needs to DIE.”

The five of us sat there, dumbfounded, while this guy went on and on about how John Smith was basically evil incarnate, raped or murdered or otherwise destroyed all of this guy’s Native American ancestors, and led the movement for the modern social imprisonment of all American minorities today.

To be fair, this guy had a few valid points – the Europeans were no saviors to the Native Americans by any means, and the forced removal of Native Americans from their homeland is still a major stain upon this nation’s history. The beautiful First Thanksgiving that we all learn about in grade school was a rare face of mutualism. BarackObinna even spoke up in support of this guy’s opinions.

At this point, I was thinking, Okay, this guy’s just opinionated about social issues. We’re in Berkeley – probably shouldn’t expect any less. He’s right in some respects, but I hope he stops talking soon - I really want to finish my meal in peace.

Then things got WEIRD.

He started talking about how any minority in America who owns and operates a corner grocery store or a laundromat is stuck in that unfortunate predicament because of John Smith and every negative racially-linked social issue in the United States is John Smith’s fault. Of course, in between each sentence, he always encouraged John Smith to go die. At one point, I quietly suggested that John Smith is, in fact, already dead and therefore cannot die again. He suggested that I go look up my genealogy and that I should be angrier at the Europeans who raped my ancestors and ruined my potential future. Apparently, no thanks to the entire continent of Europe, I am destined to be a poor owner and operator of a shady store-laundromat hybrid with an income ceiling of $25,000 per year.

I honestly wasn’t offended by anything he was saying, because I knew he was either delirious or just full of crap. However, I was really hungry and his incessant rambling was keeping me from my delicious, rapidly cooling Pad Thai. So I called him out on it. He told me to go fuck myself.

BarackObinna, the glorious future lawyer, stepped in and talked some sense into the situation. He told the crazy man to go research his own genealogy  more closely. Crazy Man retorted with a “fuck you, you KNOW you have some Native American blood in you” and left us with what I guess was an American Indian tribal middle finger greeting.

We sat there, speechless. The looks we all exchanged said but one thing: WHAT ON EARTH JUST HAPPENED?

EZ-E broke the silence in as perfect a 1980s sitcom way as possible: “BUT WE WERE ONLY TALKING ABOUT AVATAR.”

BarackObinna made a suggestion that we all decided was the best way to settle this: “He’s probably on crack. There’s no other explanation.”

Consensus made, we happily went on with our meal and laughed off the whole thing.

Yeah, this story really isn’t that good. But if you want to see societal problems in America, once again, let Berkeley be your guide: