Springer's out of a job

My roomate is obsessed with reality tv, and though I will occaisionally swing in and attempt to handle viewing it with her in the name of "bonding", I try to avoid the insanity whenever possible. But sometimes it really is unavoidable, even in "real" life.

For instance, I was woken up the other night by a domestic dispute on the sidewalk outside my apartment, and even though I live on the third floor, something about this pink stucco architecture carries sound magnificently right up into my room through the poorly insulated window. At first the arguing of this couple fit into my dream, but as they got louder I was forced into hazy wakefulness. Apparently the girl's name was Rachel, so somewhere in the shouting match when that came up I was startled fully awake thinking someone was angry with me and yelling up at my window.

Once I realized, however, that the quarreling lovers couldn't care less about the hapless grad student upstairs, I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn't keep myself from listening to them argue. It seemed that Boyfriend (I never caught his name) had done or said something unforgiveably awful; Miss Rachel was quite upset. I couldn't believe her use of profanity. Actually, it was not really very creative, just an opulent use of the "f" word. "Who the f do you fing think you are, you fing fer!??" I had to laugh at that one...I mean, once you get that mad you just need to walk away and calm down because swearing like that just doesn't say anything. She was absolutely livid and uncontrollable.

Yet at first, whatshisname appeared to be doing his best to change that. It seemed he was physcially holding her somehow to keep her from running away from him, and he was quite desperate about it, as if when she got free she would fly so fast that he would never see her again. And that might have been the case, I confess I didn't know either of them that well, really. But repeatedly I could hear her striking him with something (purse? blackberry?) or stomping her heels on the sidewalk and demanding, "Let me GO!" in the voice of a whiny, angry, frustrated, frightened child.

At this high point, I felt myself now personally engaged in their conversation, picking and switching sides as the battle pitched on, and in the moments when Rachel was trying to get free, I felt some of her fear that was laced in with all the fury. There is just something about a man using force when he can't get his way, whether he's already tried tenderness or not, that makes every girl nervous.

To add to this classical drama, through all her profanity and tantrums, the boyfriend was actually trying to REASON with her! This still astounds me. Where women are concerened, myself included, once emotions get to a certain pitch, reason is absolutely futile. (*disclaimer - contrary to popular male belief this is not the case 24-7) Now this doesn't make sense, but it is an indisputable fact and it's built into nearly every woman with little variation. That is why it amazes me that men still try and tell themselves that logic and discussion will somehow penetrate the female emotional fervor. He-Man downstairs was talking in a stern but level voice, trying to make her see his point while she kicked and struggled and beat him.

Finally Boyfriend's attempt at calm disintigrated. He was reduced to a stacatto, forceful "NO!" every couple seconds in response to Rachel's unfortunate language - to my dismay his voice exactly matched the tone people use when they are reprimanding their dog.

Eventually Rachel got free and clacked off down the street, still shouting phrases that would make a sailor blush. I could hear him plaintively calling after her, totally desperate and on the verge of tears, "Rachel! Rachel, I love you!! RACHEL!" By this time, despite the emotional developments, I was tired, bored with the soap opera, and dissapointed in this sample of humanity's total lack of skill in argument. I was truly relieved to know she'd liberated herself and the row was moving on down the block. I mumbled into my pillow in the dark, "yay...get going Rach...that's it, move on. Follow her, Casanova" waving them on weakly with my hand.

I fell asleep to the fading tones of my own name being shouted out in the dramatic desperation of an unfortunate lover, echoing into the night.

It was quite surreal. Somebody should have been there with a camera...maybe someone was.