About a month after the tale I told you in AFTHOTWTO part I, I was stumbling home after a drunken blind date. I noticed I had a voicemail from Sarah, who in just under a month had turned me into the most mind-fucked, sniveling lap-dog of a man I’d ever been. A shell of my former self.
I quickly retrieve the message and she sounds very serious, “Hey Jason… this is Sarah… I just realized… something about you… and I wanted to talk to you about it, but… you’re probably “gettin’ it awn.”
So I call her back, it’s 4:50am, which I think is within the window of opportunity for a return phone call.
“Isn’t it a little late for a phone call? Oh, what you failed to get laid so now you’re calling me, huh? Ha ha.”
“Oh come now, it’s not like that. It was just drinks. Lots of drinks. I just walked her to the bus.”
“Maybe she was waiting for you to invite her to stay… I’m sure you tried.”
“No, I didn’t actually… so anyway, you had some big revelation about me?”
“Yeah… you have a total foot/stocking/shoe fetish.”
I was expecting, “I finally realized that you are amazing and I’m in love with you.” But, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, right?
“Yeah, I certainly do. What led you to this conclusion?”
“Oh, just piecing together certain things you’ve said.”
“Things I’ve said?”
“Yeah, like who says ‘I’ll give you a pedicure?'”
“Oh, uh… ha ha!.”
So at this point I’ve walked to her house which is a few yards from my own. I knock on the door and continue the conversation in person.
Sarah has her shoes off and has just painted her toenails.
So we sit on the couch in the front room. We chat. I massage her feet.
Sudeenly there’s crashing sound out back. We look at each other in a strange “it couldn’t be…” sort of way.
We walk quickly to the back door and there is my man, six pack of Bud Light in hand, trying to get away!
I run out the back door in all my fully-clothed glory and catch up to him, get a good look at his face just to make sure it really is the same guy, and I grab him.
“You remember me? Yeah, you remember me? We have to have a talk… SARAH CALL THE COPS…”
The guy breaks free, and continues out on to Damen Ave.
I keep getting in front of him, pushing him to try and keep him in one place until the cops come.
“No, you motherfucker, you broke into my friend’s house… TWICE”
“No… it wasn’t me…. no… ”
“Yes it was fucking you! If it wasn’t you then you tell that to the cops when they get here… but if you don’t stop we are going to have a fight.”
I grab him by the shirt and he tries to get away… his shirt is tearing off his body as we casually pass by a woman walking her giant German shepard. She has to fight to keep the dog from attacking my guy… which is strange that the dog only focused on him. I pull him back inbetween two cars, struggling to pin him to one… the bottles of beer start slipping out of their sleeve and smash open on the street. Yes. He was still holding his
beer through all of this.
Just then he calls out to some guy in a pickup truck on Damen… the guy’s in the middle of traffic and he just sits there watching/waiting. My guy tries to get to him and I grab him by the shirt and throw him up into the doorway of Ten-56.
“Look, just stop. You are not going anywhere.”
“It’s okay. It’s okay…”
“It is not okay!”
He tries to escape yet again and this time I haul off and punch him in face, quickly turn to see if the dude in the pickup is going to get out, and then turn my attention back to my guy.
“It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m sorry.”
“Then just sit here and wait for the cops or I’m going to break your fucking face.”
He tries to get away again. I’m walking backwards, fists raised but now feeling kind of weird about hitting someone with no fight in him. I’m threatening him repeatedly. He’s apologizing and showing me his torn shirt as though we were even. The guy in the pickup truck is slowly driving backwards down Damen. Sarah following us down the street on the phone.
“Are you calling the cops or what!?” I snap at her. “… sorry, of course you’re calling the cops. SORRY!”
Finally a cop rolls up. A little badass polish lady. She takes him and puts him in the car. The guy in the pickup peels out.
Another cop rolls up, a sexy Mexican woman who, when we tell her the whole story, tells us that if it had happend at her house, he would be dead by now. Somehow, I felt like less of a man in her eyes.
I’d been lamenting to myself, “what ever happened to all the miniskirts that were going to be ‘in’ again? What a bunch of bullshit.” Just then this amazingly hot, young girl walks out of the apartment across the street in the shortest skirt I’ve ever seen.
“Whoah! Walk of shame!” I say. Sarah and the cops turn and stare. Sarah tells me to stop it. The girl is trying to hail a cab and I’m trying to memorize her face so I can find her on Friendster. We made eye contact as she got in the cab. Did we have a moment? I’m so going to place a missed connections ad
and get on Best of Craig’s List. “Me: beating shirtless Mexican in the street. You: lots of blush, doing the walk of shame in an airplane skirt.”
So anyway. The cops tell us that they think this is the same guy who has done the same thing elsewhere. The look at him and say, “it’s hard to tell, he was covered in so much blood by the time we got there.”
I look at my swollen hand and remember that it hurts to punch people in the face! Not only that, but it doesn’t really work. From now on I will only punch people in the stomach or the balls.