~Jeff Anderson (as Randal Graves) – “Clerks”Starting with the quote this time. Because said quote happens to be highly appropriate. It would be appropriate if all that happened to me tonight was what occured at work (including but not limited to having to break up a fight between people who actually work in Jinty’s, getting lectured by the cops, getting lectured by one of the managers of Vodka Wodka [who was off duty and I was lectured for daring to warn him not to start a fight with someone he had just publicly threatened], and finally getting lectured by my manageress to the point of me threatening to quit). But my night didn’t end with work.
On my way home from Jinty’s I called Chris to let him know I wouldn’t be joining him at a party that was going on. As I was folding the phone closed, some tragically stupid and reasoning-impared NED came at me and tried to grab the phone out of my hand. I can only assume that he thought I was one of the countless punters who had just had a long night drinking and so would be easy prey. I wasn’t, and refused to let go of my brand new mobile, so he started making feeble jabs at me with what looked to be a kitchen knife in one of his hands. I blocked with my forearm trusting in the three layers of clothes to protect me from what I figured to be a dull blade. We struggled for all of ten seconds or so before I remembered I was wearing steel-toed boots at which point I kicked him as hard as I could as close to the kneecap as I could reach. At that point he let go, stumbled, and then ran (hobbled) away.
Right then I used my bravely-defended mobile to call the cops who, with great devotion to duty, proceeded to take his description while totally failing to even get my name. I made it all the way home before I started shaking at all. I immediately got on the phone to Jinty’s to make sure that everyone there drinking late took a cab home rather than walking, then called my folks to let them know what happened. It was while the phone was ringing for my Mom’s mobile that I finally noticed a stinging feeling on my right forearm. I pulled back my sleeve and discovered a lovely two inch slash (and also a pin prick of a second one) that I had been too high on adrenaline to notice. Apparently my sleeves hadn’t managed to totally turn aside the blade which was also apparently much sharper than previously thought.
Those that are worried: I’m just fine. Took a bit before it would fully stop bleeding, but it seems fine now (had to shave some of my arm hair before the bandage would actually make contact with the cut!). It really is a nothing scratch, but the fact that I have it at all pisses me off just a tiny bit. There really are a bunch of savages in this town.
“If you prick us, do we not bleed?”
~William Shakespeare (Shylock the Jew) – “The Merchant of Venice” Act III scene i