So this dude has the balls to turn his back on Socko and I and continue to stand in line with his piece of shit friend. At this point I get really pissed. Normally I’m able to keep my cool, but tonight I lost it. Perhaps it was due to extraneous drama going on in my personal life, or perhaps I'm just tired and pissy, and ready to blow off some steam. Unfortunately, for the moment my hands are tied. You see, my job description mandates I have to maintain the utmost “professionalism” up until someone decides to throw a punch at me. Once this happens, it’s open season my friend.
So I proceed to lay the bait. “Hey Stupid...”
His friend turns to me. “What deed you say?”
I continue to intently stare at the other guy (I call it mad-dogging). “I’m not talking to you asshole, I’m talking to your friend. Comprendes Mendes?”
The other guy turns and looks at me. I have his attention now.
I take a step closer. “Hey puta, you got 100 bucks? Cause I’m not letting you cocksuckers in now unless you pay me, and my associate here, 50 bucks apiece. Of course a fucking scrub such as yourself probably doesn’t even have 5 bucks...”
His face turns redder.
“...In fact, why the fuck ARE you here tonight? You actually think you’re going to find some pussy, an ugly ijo de puta like you? The chances you’ll get laid are precisely 3.2 trillion to one.”
Socko snickers behind me.
I step even closer. “ So why don’t you do yourself a favor, turn around, and walk the fuck away.” As a final insult I spit my gum in his face.
As I anticipated, he takes a swing at me. He throws a wild-west style haymaker, telegraphing it a mile away. I catch his arm and tuck it underneath my left armpit. At the same time I take a step forward and deliver a heel palm strike deep into his face. Blood erupts out of both nostrils like popped zits, as tears instantly swell up in his eyes thus blinding him. I still have his arm in my possession. I grab his thumb and using his thumb and wrist as leverage I spin him around and at the same time yank him out of the line and onto the filthy concrete. I think I hear something pop. He starts hitting the ground and screaming in pain.
The cool thing about Aikido is the ability to use your opponents weight, movement, and aggression against them. You are in complete command of your opponent’s body. Should your opponent try to outmuscle you they’ll wind up with dislocations, busted fingers, or far worse. Most bouncers are instructed to avoid throwing punches. The key is to restrain unruly patrons and transport them to a more discreet location where you may cuff them and/or beat the shit out of them, away from prying eyes. In our case, that discreet location is the back storage room.
Out of the corner I see his friend lunge at me in a rage only to see Socko grab him from behind and place him in a chokehold and buckle his knees. He has about as much mobility now as a newborn swaddled in a blanket. However what I DON’T see, nor anticipate, are the three vato’s 20 ft down the line. I DO see the foot as it rapidly closes in on my face.
I start seeing stars. I then feel 2 sets of hands grab me by my shirt and then a dull impact to the back of my skull. Dumb fuck tried to punch me in the back of my head, how smart is that? I break into a run. To my dismay I hear my favorite shirt tear clean off me and all I’m left wearing is a black tank top and my jeans. I do manage to free up a few precious seconds to summon help:
“Fuck! Code Red at VIP! Code Red at VIP! You hear…..”
The same dumb fuck, the mute, kicks me in the stomach and knocks the wind out of me and slaps my radio out of my hand. I do have the sense to grab the same jersey he refused to take off and pull it up over his head thus utilizing it as a strait jacket. I grab him and run his head into the brick wall. I have to make this as quick as possible because I know his friends are not too far behind and ready to converge on me like a pack of hyenas. At this moment in my peripheral vision I see about 4 black shirts zip by me. The bouncing staff has arrived just in the nick of time. I was just about to get gang banged by the homies.
I exhaustedly sit down on the curb and in between gasps for breath I can't help but giggle. The adrenaline and endorphins are still coursing through my body like heroin. My job's done and I leave it up to the guys to clean up the mess. I fumble with my radio but my hands are too shaky to re-clip the wire to my wife-beater. I look down and I find a gallon of my own blood splattered all over my jeans. Not only that, one of my eyes is swollen like a grape and sealed shut tight. FUCK!
Epilogue:
I exit the staff bathroom. The dried blood finally has been scrubbed off my swollen face. As I’m walking through the back storage room guess whom I find hog-tied and lying on his stomach on the sticky floor waiting for the police? Evidently, he pulled a knife on one of the bouncers. I kneel next to him to get down to his level, enabling him to clearly see who I am.
I waive. “Hey, remember me?”
Again, as he did before, he looks straight ahead and ignores me. Proud mother-fucker.
I stand up and look around. Coast is clear.
“You know what homey? You tore my favorite shirt.”
I stomp on the back of his skull with almost all of my weight. I think his head bounces off the concrete. I hear a rhythmic crunching sound as his body flies into a 5-second convulsion fit. When the cops arrived later on to pick this guy up (pun intended), he was still unable to talk. Even if he could speak, who the fuck would believe him? It’s his word against the entire bouncing staff’s. Suprisingly, I didn't get fired or even in trouble with the boss that night. Socko covered my ass, for some strange reason, and told everyone these guys attacked us. Which in fact, they did. Or maybe Socko and the guys knew I took a beating and perhaps they respected me more for it? Nah, I think the real reason was that they were all thrilled as fuck to see my face messed up.
For several weeks after this incident I watched my back. I figured for sure there’d be a swift and decisive retaliation. Every car that would slowly drive by made me sketchy. Every lingering glance I’d get would make be a wee bit nervous. I’d insist on parking in the gated lot. However, retaliation never came. I later found out this kid was on probation for drug possession with intent to deal. He was locked away for a good 15 years and wouldn’t be bothering anyone.
17 comments:
Good story!
Now how often does this sort of thing happen at a club? Like was this an expectionally rare event, or does it happen at least once a month.
And is it totally kosher with the law that you can deal with them in any way you feel like it? Such as taking them to the back room and beating them up, or did you get luck?
Holy fucking shit. Nice work on the fight description.
"...and then a dull impact to the back of my skull. Dumb fuck tried to punch me in the back of my head, how smart is that?"
I felt like I got punched in the back of the head, also, like I remember it happenning to me.
I once read that laughter and yawning have been clinicly proven to be sideffects of adrenaline high.
Thanks for the story.
Kirsi. Thanks, I'm glad you enjoyed it despite the fact it was rather testosterone driven and a bit bloody.
Events like this were infrequent for me... of course I wasn't stationed inside the club, I worked the entrance and everyone is usually on good behavior so they can get in. Plus I wasn't an actual bouncer, so I didn't see nearly as much action. However, inside the club it was an entirely different story. It was an almost weekly occurence.
And yes, beatings did sometimes occur in the back room. Of course, you didn't hear that from me. ;P
Aydreeyin. Thanks for the props! I'm glad you approve.
You know, writing this I discovered how tricky it is to describe a fight scene. I'm sure you agree with me there. There's so much happening at once and the scene itself is/was so fucking chaotic. Looking back upon the event it's challenging to get it all into the correct wording and in an appropriate order.
Was too busy to day to read this, so I finally got to it this evening! I'm glad I didn't read it too close to eating MY dinner! I'm pretty squeemish about blood and your description was vivid enough to give me a very clear mental image. Ewwww....
i don't get it. what harm was this guy doing to you just standing in line? sounds like you were on a power trip.
i've known a lot of latinos who come here, work hard, send their money home. you kept mentioning his race, as if it would have been different had he been white. he had an attitude but you purposefully provoked this guy who was then sent away for years b/c of the drug possession probation (which you could have easily been caught for many times in your life, i'm sure)...
i just don't get it. and then stepping on the the guy's head while he's tied down? you could have paralyzed him for life. that's sick. is that what you need to make you feel good? getting high off beating the shit out of a mexican?
i'm sorry but i'm at a loss here...
Sar, Wordwhiz - Sorry about your meals. Looks like I owe you two dinner.
Jasmine - First of all, this is an experience that took place in my life many years ago. and unfortunatley it WAS me then. Albeit a horrible, ugly side of me, but me nonetheless. I use this blog as a means to release some of this pent up anger and in case you haven't noticed ... regret. I'm sorry the story didn't sit well with you.
Secondly, I am by no means a racist, and it's insulting you even alluded that notion. I spoke Spanish to him not because I was mocking him but because I speak it myself...because I AM half-spanish.
Look, this isn't a novel, it's a three to four paragraph post and I tried to squeeze in as much detail as I could given my time and space constraints, and trust me, this guy wasn't some bright eyed mexican immigrant pursuing the american dream a la "Mi Familia." He was a piece of shit, tatted up, hardcore gangster with absolutely nothing to lose and everything to gain. If you recall, he tried stabbing one of the bouncing staff for fucks sake!
Also if it isn't obvious by now I was a COMPLETE piece of shit back then, hell, maybe I still am. I don't write about "puppy dogs and ice cream" or sonnets to spring flowers.
The incident in the back room was perhaps unwarranted and despicable, and as per my disclaimer, Fuck, maybe it didn't even happen at all! Mayhbe it's fiction. Who knows?
Again, I apologize you were let down.
I agree with you on the fight scene. It is hard enough writing a one on one fight, but when you throw more characters into the mix, the narrative has to be almost ultra-cinematic, and then do you want a chaotic Jason Bourne movie-type fight scene or do you want a ballet like Crouching Tiger scene?
Decisions, decisions.
We are all horrible and wonderful in our own ways. It's the horror and injustice and lack of or attainment of love that makes good stories.
If you were some namby pamby lover of cotton tail bunnies, I would not be visiting your site.
Aydreeyin. You know, your comment really makes me feel a whole lot better. The negative response to this piece kind of bummed me out, and for a second there, I almost wanted to give up blogging altogether.
I shouldn't allow it to bother me like this though. How pathetic! As a writer, one of my goals is to try and step outside the box and experiment with different styles and themes. What could make better source material than oneself, and the events in your own life, even if it's ugly or horrible?
Now that I've thought about it some more, I don't regret putting this incident down into words. In fact, I feel a whole lot better now - as though a load has been lifted from my shoulders.
Thanks again bhodisattva brother.
Sar. Thanks, you're a sweetheart. :)
I deleted it because I didn't like the answers I listed. I think they might have been too risque and I don't want this turning into a "sex blog." I'm trying to keep it rated R, not X.
I like pushing the envelope, but at the same time, I don't want to come across as tasteless or crass, because that's really not me. No, really. Honestly. ;)
Sirius Green. Ah, the sins of youth! I've made many mistakes. We all have. Some I regret, others I don't. All of these choices however made me the person I am today, whether that's good or bad I don't know.
If you were to go back and read my previous posts you may notice a trend. Mostly all of them address mistakes or choices I've made. In fact, you might even call this blog one huge "Mea Culpa."
Thanks for swinging by.
hermes, i completely see that you re-examine things in your past with some of these blog entries. i see things you think are mistakes. i just didn't see regret in that post. i saw hatred, prejudice, defiance, and phrases that led me to think you thought you were justified (i.e. "he pulled a knife," "he was locked up," as if he were the only one that was a danger to society). i got no sense that, in retrospect, you thought this might have been wrong.
on the upside, if you needed any validation, the fact that it bothered some people means the writing is good. just as a good actor as a villian can be seen by how much you hate them at the end of the movie. they did a good job.
Jasmine. I think the fact I wrote this post in a more lighthearted manner, almost tongue in cheek, perhaps added to the villainy.
Also, it was written in the present tense. Which means when I wrote it I basically tried to re-live my thoughts and feelings at the time, which unfortunately, were hateful and defiant, but not prejudiced.
I hope this doesn't dissuade you from reading my writings in the future, I value your input.
oh never dear. i think you're brilliant. i am slightly apalled by some of the actions of the younger, more evil you. i won't hold it against the (hopefully) wiser person you are now.
*breathes a sigh of relief*
Jasmine. The last thing I'd want to do is scare away a loyal reader... all three of them. ;)
I have to say i was kind of assuming the stepping on his skull was at the very least an exaggeration if not flat out fiction.
Anonymous. Okay, if it's any consolation, it is exaggeration. In reality, I patted him on the head and gave him a swift kick to the ribs on my way out. No serious damage was done except perhaps some hurt pride.
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