Batman, help thyself!

As it happens, I’m a bit of a hypocrite.

[All together now: ‘Only a BI-IT!?!?’]

I don’t accept any preconceptions. You may tell me ‘Watch out for that guy – he is not to be trusted!’ I shan’t take your warning to heart.
I know, I know… we go back a long way, you and I, but still I would rather find out the hard way that you were right all along nine out of ten times than do the tenth person an injustice by having been hung up on your advice. Call me Mr Pighead!

[Hey, watch your tongue, will ye – that was merely figure of speech!]

Yet, when I meet people that at first glance seem quite nice, and I see them approach someone who is not to be trusted, my innate Batman kicks in and I hear myself say: ‘Careful now – watch out for that one!’

Why I do that?
I am still at a loss as to why. Am I my brother’s keeper by any chance? Why should I give a damn anyway? Didn’t I write in a post the other day people should be free to make their own choices – regardless of the consequences?
Let it be! The only possible outcome of such interference is: ‘Fuck off, let me be the judge of that!’ Which serves me right of course.

Once as a youngster I went camping with a handful of friends on the Isle of Skylge.
At the camp site store some obnoxious bold guy with a greasy moustache and in a sleeveless motor jacket started picking on one of my friends. I don’t know why. I did not need to know why, in my young view, I merely registered that the guy was harassing my friend – who by the way, though clearly bothered by it as I could tell by the look on his face, did not respond accordingly.
At that moment the Batman in me stepped in, gently pushed my friend aside and punched the bold guy full in the greasy moustache: Splash!
Oomph!
The motor guy responded as I expected – he toddled off. My friend though didn’t respond at all as I expected – he was pissed as hell at me.
I am still at a loss as to why.

A couple of years later, in late-night Groningen, after attending a concert at Simplon, I was pushing my feet reluctantly in the general direction of home when my attention was caught by screams of rage mixed with fear. I stopped. At the opposite side of the Butterdipe I saw a couple of guys pulling and pushing a seemingly desperate girl off her bike every time she tried to get back onto it.
I strolled over and grabbed one of them by the… lapel – the pushy one.
Both boys responded as I expected – they toddled off. The girl on the other hand didn’t respond at all as I expected – she was pissed as hell at me.
I am still at a loss as to why.

Those are just a few of many incidents, but I guess they suffice quite nicely in order for us to establish that I’m a bit of a failed Batman – the kind that is tarred and feathered after he has rushed in to lend a helping hand, or… uhh, fist.
In fact, this particular Batman has definitely more than one screw loose, I’m afraid. Because, if I myself am being bullied or treated unfairly, in most situations I remain catatonic – I seem to be absolutely unable to stand up for myself.
I am still at a loss as to why.