This happened a number of years ago when I worked as a manager of a liquor store in a rather crummy part of my crummy town. This liquor store was basically the nexus of all the poorest neighborhoods, as we were the closest (at the time) place to get booze. Needless to say we attracted the absolute worst people imaginable. I'd never been exposed to such unwashed, ignorant, entitled pieces of shit in my entire life - and I was subjected to their buffoonery for close to three years.
Now, I have a half dozen or so bizarre encounters, fights, thefts etc - but this one is by far my absolute favorite. I posted an abridged version of it as a response to a theft once before, but there were a number of details I omitted for the sake of brevity. So here's the long version.
I think I was probably 21 or 22 at the time, and I was riding my first halfway decent motorcycle. A 2005 Yamaha FZ6. I typically parked it towards the edge of the lot near the street so I could see it from the building, but on this particular night I decided to park it right next to the building in view of the cameras. I have no idea why I decided to do it, it was the only time I'd ever moved it there and it is also the only reason these events took place.
There was, and likely still is, a very warn path through a field leading directly from a low/no income apartment complex onto our lot. It's basically a straight line from their front porch to ours, like a migration route for some awful, stinking drunk neanderthals. And before anyone jumps in to defend these people, I have pictures and stories. When life presented them with the option of living or drinking, they chose drinking.
So on this particular night we close up around 12:00 and I head out to my bike, only to find that my tank bag (luggage) has been removed from the motorcycle. This is a rigid canvas bag attached to the fuel tank via straps or magnets, maybe the size of a small backpack. The thing is basically worthless for resale, maybe $20 on eBay, but a pawn shop wouldn't give you anything for it, and unless you have a motorcycle the bag has absolutely no value. Fortunately the bag was nearly empty, with the exception of an extra Driver's License, my insurance, registration, etc.
Needless to say I was exceptionally angry this evening. Some subhuman had swiped all of my information, and my only means of storage. It was especially insulting to have just finished working at my terrible job, being around garbage monsters all day who do nothing but drink, only to have one of these same sponges steal directly from me.
So the next day I tell the owner what happened and have him check the tapes. He makes me a copy so I can give it to the Police and file a report. I make a copy for myself because I'm fairly certain justice won't be served for this individual unless I find him myself. The video is grainy and at night your can't really see much, but I'm fairly certain one of my coworkers will recognize him. You see him walk up to the drive-thru window, order, get his beer, then casually walk over to my bike and fumble with the tank bag for a moment before removing it and leaving. Scratched up the paint in the process.
As luck would have it, two of my coworkers immediately recognize the guy as a semi regular, but I have no clue who he is. So I'm at the mercy of them managing to get his ID, or me being there at the same time they are and pointing him out to me. Odds aren't great, but I'm hopeful and patient.
2 or 3 weeks go by, and one night after leaving a bar I decided to stop in and visit at the liquor store. The inside closes after 10:00pm, and it's usually a little slow, so we're all standing around talking when a customer walks up to the drive-thru window. Now he looks vaguely familiar, but I have no idea why. The coworker waiting on him turns and gives me a look, and then motions to the guy at the window. I mouth "Is that him?", and he nods. Now I recognize him. He's even wearing the same stupid hat. It says something like "FBI - Federal Breast Inspector." Because he's trashy. So this is the guy. Big adrenaline rush.
Now, I'm a completely average size guy. 5'10", 155lbs at the time. There is nothing threatening about me or intimidating, and that seems to work both for and against me because people assume I can't or won't fight. What often gets me into trouble is that I actually enjoy fighting, and when someone tells me they're going to kick my ass I always like to give them a chance. This guy has a fair size and weight advantage on me, and I recognize him as one of the local junkies that's dating a girl I actually went to high school with (and was at the time a prostitute.) I assume he's in bad physical condition, and likely drunk or sedated in some capacity, and this coupled with my having had a few drinks likely fueled the coming confrontation.
I very calmly removed my jacket (I was on the motorcycle again and can't help but wonder how he didn't see that same bike he'd stolen from and think "maybe I should go somewhere else tonight") and walked around the counter to the side door and stepped out into the drive-thru. I wait till he's finished his transaction and say, "Hey man can I talk to you for a second?" He's give me an uneasy look and starts walking towards me. "What's up man?" I proceed to explain the situation to him, very calmly. I said listen, that tank bag you stole off of that motorcycle a few weeks ago was mine. I have you on tape doing it, I actually have the video on my phone right now. I want it back, or I'm calling the police, and then you'll get arrested. That seems like a lot of trouble, so what I'd like to do instead, is follow you to your place, get it back, I won't call the police, and nobody gets hurt.
Now I felt like this was super reasonable, all things considered. Apparently I was incorrect. He's very loudly insistent that it wasn't him, and he has no idea what I'm talking about but I need to get out of his way or he's going to fuck me up. This was both the answer I was expecting, and also kinda hoping for. I restated my position, but this time rephrased it a little.
"You're going to walk over to those apartments you stay at with me, you're going to give me that fucking bag back, or I'm going to smash your fucking head in like a caveman. If you try to run, I'm going to fuck you up, then you're still going to get arrested. I have you on tape. Please understand there is a really easy solution to this."
At his point he is visibly upset, and I can tell he's about to run. So I warn him, "Dude, don't fucking run. If you run from me I'm going to fuck you up." At this point I got up in his face and reiterated that point. "Don't do it man. I'm fucking warning you." So of course at this moment he tries to bolt past me. He was spry, but for some reason I'll never fully understand he runs to the very end of the drive-thru, then takes a left down the alley in an 'L' shape. It confused me even then, but I of course just cut straight across the grass and caught him immediately. Maybe it was the adrenaline rush and weeks of pent up anger, or maybe it was the fact that I'd stood there calmly and tried to reason with this mutant only to have him lie to me despite overwhelming video evidence (also the stupid hat was a dead giveaway), but I guess I snapped. Just as I'm about to tackle him my brain decided my body was going to do something else, and I find myself throwing a Superman punch. I dove towards him and cocked my left hand mid air and punched, connecting on his jaw and simultaneously breaking my hand and knocking him out. Sounds like total bullshit. I absolutely agree. He crumpled to the ground and I immediately regretted throwing that punch. My hand was trashed.
But he was only out for a second, because he started to turn to his side and try to get up. I jumped on him quickly, got into a full mount and pinned both of his arms down. He starts shouting at me and struggling. I tried reasoning with him again. "Listen man, I told you not to run, didn't I? What did you think was going to happen. Quit fucking struggling and listen to me. You're going to go get that bag back. WE'RE going to get it back. Understand me?"
He begins to explain to me that it wasn't him, then he tells me it was his identical cousin. Identical cousin, c'mon man?! Ok well not identical but he looks almost exactly like him, he swears. Then he admits he did it, but he doesn't have it anymore, and doesn't know where to get it because he was fucked up. Now, one of these is probably true but it doesn't matter because basically, I'm probably not getting it back.
About midway through this dialogue he decides it's his chance to turn the tides of this battle, so he tries punch me from his back. I don't even know if he actually clipped me or not but I saw red, and I started wailing on him. My left hand is wrecked already so after several punches I throw a slicing elbow that split his forehead open, badly, and I think his head bounced off the pavement. So he's bleeding a lot from a spot on the front and back. He's also throwing punches up at my face as I'm posturing and throwing down at him. This goes on briefly before he turtles up and I pin him again. I've got my forearm against his throat, asking him what he did with the bag and then letting off so he can answer. After a few rounds of this, he finally admits that he stole it, he sold it for pill money, he doesn't know where it is now. About this time one of my coworkers who had been watching gently put his hand on my should and said, "Dude you're going to kill him." I'm positive I wasn't going to, but I'm glad he said something.
"See? Was that so hard? You could have saved yourself a really savage beating if you'd just admitted it earlier. Now, you're going to say you're sorry, and I'm going to let you up. You're going to walk away, and if I ever see you again, I'm going to beat you a lot worse than this."
I stood up and took a step away from him. He stumbled to his feet, holding his forehead. There was blood all over both of us at this point. His forehead was absolutely gruesome, with a gash running nearly from his eyebrow to his hairline. He glanced down and went to grab his hat and I stopped him. "Nope. That's mine." He looked at his bag of shitty beer. "Nope. Those are mine too. Run, while I let you." You could tell him now going home without those beers was basically the worst thing that had ever happened to, including that beating. Any moment of sobriety was torture I'm sure. As he shambled towards his rat hole apartment I picked up the bag of Bud Ice 22oz bottles and started winging them at his feet. "Run fucker. RUN." What do I want with shitty beer anyway?
So now I'm covered in blood, my hand is broken, and I don't have my tank bag back - but, silver lining, I did walk away with his "FBI - Federal Breast Inspector" hat. And I had it sitting on top of my refrigerator for a number of years.
Long story, I know. But there's actually a few other parts to it. In the aftermath of this fight, there was a completely unrelated fight less than 48 hours later which a guy who had tried to sexually assault a woman at a bar. Nex, the prostitute girlfriend of Tank Bag Thief came in and managed to steal a 1.75 liter bottle of Jose Cuervo Gold, wearing a dress, and without a purse. Think about that one for a second. It's a giant glass handle of liquor. Later, Tank Bag Thief sent a proxy in to try and broker a peace treaty with me. And finally, former coworkers of Tank Bag Thief came in and told me his version of the story, at which point I discovered his name and where he worked.
Thanks for reading. More stories to come.
Submitted June 03, 2017 at 04:11AM by bbibbyrapskyle1975 http://ift.tt/2rtWfGB ProRevenge
No comments:
Post a Comment