I had a trade with my acupuncturist yesterday, and then worked on a client before I had to go down to traffic court’s evening session. They didn’t have a narrative from the police officer for me to review, and the judge didn’t buy my argument that the lack of a narrative was the same as the officer being absent, but as this was only an arraignment I plead not guilty and got a court date in September.
On the walk home, I stopped at Chaps to have a cocktail, which turned into three. The bartenders were all very hot and friendly, and the small crowd was jovial. I was having a good time, and I had my change sitting on the bar next to my glass. Some guy came up on my right side and started hitting on me, and when I rebuffed him, he grabbed my cash off the bar and tried to bolt out the door. Well, tried is the operative word. I grabbed his sweatshirt sleeve which provided a hold for me to reach across his back and grab his left scapula and then tackled him, landing atop him with all my weight. My estimate is that I outweighed this guy by more than two times, and was around a foot taller than him.
Anyway, the four bar staff came dashing around and pulled me off of him, got my money back from him, and he went scurrying on his way, with one of the bartenders following him. The tender saw that he was trying to go into either the Hole in the Wall or the Powerhouse, and went to warn the staff there, when the guy hit him, whereupon the bartender kicked him in the balls, stopped and said, “come at me again.” The rat made a dash for some safer hidey-hole.
The poor fellow probably thought that since I’m a big guy that I’d be slow and clumsy, but I guarantee that if someone tries to rob me, I am more than capable of defending myself. His shoulder is going to be jacked up for the next 6 to 8 months from how I used it as a handle to take him down. But that’s nothing less than he deserves.
Things got better after that. I started walking home but was feeling like I needed a sympathetic ear, so I walked over to Marlena’s and talked to the bartender there, which ended up with me suddenly chit-chatting with this small group of straight folk, and then we all went down the street to that beer and wine bar a few doors down. The two guys, Chris and Mike, were commercial charter aircraft pilots, and Belle and Lace were sisters who’s father publishes a weekly newspaper about motorcycling, and Matt was Lace’s new boyfriend. It was really surreal, to say the least, to talk with them about what had happened earlier that night, and then in general, just talk with them.
Sometime in the night, the ladies and boyfriend took off, and the pilots and I staggered off up the street. The one guy lives in a house on the alley behind my house, and so we all said goodnight, and I finished going home had a couple of glasses of water and crashed out.
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