"What's it f***in' matter?"

Interesting interaction brother Jon and I had recently…

We were enjoying a meal at a local restaurant after some shop talk at his office when two guys sat down at the bar near our table. At one point one of these guys turns toward us, saying ‘Quick question…’ He pauses, distracted; we’re waiting for the question that never made its way out of his mouth. He says something like ‘Whoa, you’ve got the last of those hats!’ He was referring to the bandannas I was wearing to cover some recent surgery scars on my head. We knew the guy had already had quite a bit to drink; but this interlude was the start of a series of periodic interruptions in our respective discussions.

And by the third such interlude, introductions were made,…kind of,… This distracted distracter says “Hey, I’m Kir…” as we shake hands. In the slur of his inebriation, I didn’t quite catch his name, and sought clarity—‘I’m sorry—was it Kurt? Or Kirk?’ His response was jarring—“What’s it f***in’ matter?” Not sure just how to respond, all I could think of to say was ‘OK, I’ll just call you Cur,’ not really thinking of the potential implications, but given his intoxication, not all that concerned either.

But in his response, suddenly, the harmless benevolence of his tangential banter was marked by a tinge of belligerence. And what was most intriguing in this response was that, somehow, it seemed to define this guy’s MO; this is the paradigm that generally fed his overall response to life.

These interludes continued—none so imminently volatile as that one—but it included toasts, Cur’s invitation to Jon to make a speech, a comparison of all of our relationships at various levels of brokenness, and Cur buying Jon and me a round of beers. All said and done, these intermittent dialogues made for a different type of entertainment at this favorite pub of ours.

And later, after Cur and his buddy left, as we confirmed with our server that Cur had bought us each a beer, we then heard the rest of the story… Cur is a regular at this establishment, the brother of the owner, and there was, on the part of this server, the lingering curiosity as to what Cur’s cab ride home must be like after each visit.

And I s’pose being a fly on the dashboard of that taxi would carry the same level of intrigue as that which Jon and I felt in these intermittent interactions with Cur and his friend that evening. But then again, all things considered regarding Cur, this unique ambassador for the spice of life, “what’s it f***in’ matter?”