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When keepin' it real goes wrong at Wing Stop
Was talking to a buddy the other day, and this old incident came up, since it happened around Super Bowl time. This is one of those stories that we end up talking about once a year, and since I wasn't on here when it happened, I figured I'd write it up, since it always gives us a laugh. People asking for cliff notes will be drawn and quartered, the remaining pieces of their bodies FedEx'ed to Jester so that he can shove them up his ass and poop them back out. That, or if I see you at a meet, I'll touch your food... Explanation forthcoming:
Early 2001.
I was 24 and enjoying life in my new to me condo. I had just picked up a 1996 GT, my 9th Mustang at the time, had a rather good looking 19 year old girlfriend, and was nearing the end of my youthful peak of “I don’t give a fuck.” The World Trade Centers were still standing, street racing wasn’t a felony, and I had the clarity of a person who has everything going for them and the smirk of a instigator that dared any one to tell me otherwise.
A group of friends and I used to gather at the Wing Stop on Green Oaks and S. Cooper in Arlington, one of the guys girlfriends being the manager. We would frequently be in there for hours, talking smack about each others cars until someone inevitably got their feelings hurt, and then we would go momentarily block traffic in front of the restaurant on Green Oaks and drag race past the police fueling station at the water plant next door with reckless abandon.
On Super Bowl Sunday, the place was robbed right at closing, while the girl we knew was on shift. The employees were all led into the bathroom at gunpoint, and she thought she was going to die. This girl and I got a long rather well, and I’d known her boyfriend since childhood, he being the first kid I actually met when I moved to Arlington in ’85, living across the street. She was very shaken by the entire thing, and with us being sensitive to that, the scene was set for what we walked into a week later after getting off work.
Three of us casually stroll in, expecting to have a few beers and relax after a long day at our shitty parts house jobs (I was at Pep Boys at the time-what a nightmare). Upon entering, we notice there is an African American male who is EXCEPTIONALLY aggravated raising his voice at our goddess of the wings. He is leaning over the counter, pointing fingers, waving hands, and generally being menacing. Apparently he spied the cooks… touching his food while they were making it, and he is not pleased with this ridiculous transgression. The girl is visibly shaking in fear, her voice is trembling, as she tries to placate the man, but he is having none of it.
There is one man in line behind him, and I take up position behind him. The girls boyfriend goes to the opposite end of the front counter, with a good ten feet of empty space between them, and my third buddy takes a seat at the table nearest the exit, directly behind all of us, which puts us all within about 15 or 20 feet of each other. I’m listening to this idiot rage with a high level of personal distaste, but it isn’t my girlfriend, so I’m going to just sit back and see how things unfold.
Buddy at the counter asks the man to please calm down; explains that the restaurant was robbed recently and he is intimidating the manager. The man of course turns this around into he is being accused of trying to rob the restaurant, instead of listening. Buddy is cool, continues trying to explain his case, and makes a slight pointing gesture with his hand, from ten feet away. At this point we’d probably been in there maybe 5 minutes at most listening to this guy.
Many of you who have known me for years, know that my tolerance for stupidity is virtually nil. I’ve calmed as I’ve gotten older, but I’ve always had a short fuse when it comes to dealing with outrageously dumb and entitled people, and if any of you knew me at the age of 24, to say that that fuse was only about a millimeter long to begin with might be overestimating. To put it simply, up until this point, the restraint I’d shown in keeping my mouth shut was taking a herculean effort of will on my part. So my buddy makes a mild half assed pointing gesture toward the man, who shouts back, from ten feet away, “Get your finger out of my face!!!”
I say, pretty mild and dryly, all things considered, but with a touch of “give me a break” in my voice, “His finger isn’t anywhere near your face..” Mr. Badass SPINS around like he is wearing rollerblades, rushes at me, and stops an inch from my chest and yells into my face “I wasn’t talking to you! What the fuck’re you going to do about it, huh, HUH?!?!”
Now, I’m normally fairly aloof, relaxed and bored in demeanor, which can tend to drop a good three or four inches off my size with a slacker slouch, and belie the fact that I am constantly assessing EVERYTHING in my immediate surroundings. This guy is maybe 5’9, in his late 20s, and doesn’t appear to have any extra fat. At the time I was maybe 190 pounds, indifferent to consequences, and recognizing a guy that is used to getting what he wants through bullying and intimidation. Not things I’m generally a fan of, especially when it comes at the expense of a female friend who has recently been put through the wringer.
So with this in mind, I stand up straight, to my full 6’3 height, square my broad shoulders, clench my hands into fists at the opposite ends of my 70” reach and move my arms out slightly from my body. I then lean OVER him and say directly into his suddenly upturned face matter of factly “I’m about to kick your fucking ass.”
His eyes visibly widen, as everything falls silent and the seconds tick. Suddenly, the patron who had initially been in between us is between us again, pushing him back. I just laugh and shrug; I have no intention of hitting this idiot unless he takes a swing first. AS SOON as Mr. Badass is 10 feet away with two people in between us, he goes into a crouch, throws his hands into karate choppers and lets loose a “Whhaaa!! Whhaaaaaaaa!!!!” I BUST out laughing at this moron, as do my friends.
The girl gives this guy his money back and he is still talking shit, saying he is calling the health department, etc. etc. His wife has come inside and he is still running at the mouth, with me now seated at that table with my friend right next to the front door. He says “I’m never coming in here again!!” and I say loudly “Boy, is that a relief.” Bruce Leeroy Jenkins hasn’t had enough and yells at me “Say one more word to me! Say one more word and I’ll kick your ass!” I glance over at him and say “Maaaaan, FUUUCK YOOOU.” He pauses a beat, jumps in the air throwing his arms around in frustration like a four year old and yells, “You’re not worth it!” His wife grabs him by the jacket and drags him out the door. We have our beers and enjoy the night, grins painted on all around.
Early 2001.
I was 24 and enjoying life in my new to me condo. I had just picked up a 1996 GT, my 9th Mustang at the time, had a rather good looking 19 year old girlfriend, and was nearing the end of my youthful peak of “I don’t give a fuck.” The World Trade Centers were still standing, street racing wasn’t a felony, and I had the clarity of a person who has everything going for them and the smirk of a instigator that dared any one to tell me otherwise.
A group of friends and I used to gather at the Wing Stop on Green Oaks and S. Cooper in Arlington, one of the guys girlfriends being the manager. We would frequently be in there for hours, talking smack about each others cars until someone inevitably got their feelings hurt, and then we would go momentarily block traffic in front of the restaurant on Green Oaks and drag race past the police fueling station at the water plant next door with reckless abandon.
On Super Bowl Sunday, the place was robbed right at closing, while the girl we knew was on shift. The employees were all led into the bathroom at gunpoint, and she thought she was going to die. This girl and I got a long rather well, and I’d known her boyfriend since childhood, he being the first kid I actually met when I moved to Arlington in ’85, living across the street. She was very shaken by the entire thing, and with us being sensitive to that, the scene was set for what we walked into a week later after getting off work.
Three of us casually stroll in, expecting to have a few beers and relax after a long day at our shitty parts house jobs (I was at Pep Boys at the time-what a nightmare). Upon entering, we notice there is an African American male who is EXCEPTIONALLY aggravated raising his voice at our goddess of the wings. He is leaning over the counter, pointing fingers, waving hands, and generally being menacing. Apparently he spied the cooks… touching his food while they were making it, and he is not pleased with this ridiculous transgression. The girl is visibly shaking in fear, her voice is trembling, as she tries to placate the man, but he is having none of it.
There is one man in line behind him, and I take up position behind him. The girls boyfriend goes to the opposite end of the front counter, with a good ten feet of empty space between them, and my third buddy takes a seat at the table nearest the exit, directly behind all of us, which puts us all within about 15 or 20 feet of each other. I’m listening to this idiot rage with a high level of personal distaste, but it isn’t my girlfriend, so I’m going to just sit back and see how things unfold.
Buddy at the counter asks the man to please calm down; explains that the restaurant was robbed recently and he is intimidating the manager. The man of course turns this around into he is being accused of trying to rob the restaurant, instead of listening. Buddy is cool, continues trying to explain his case, and makes a slight pointing gesture with his hand, from ten feet away. At this point we’d probably been in there maybe 5 minutes at most listening to this guy.
Many of you who have known me for years, know that my tolerance for stupidity is virtually nil. I’ve calmed as I’ve gotten older, but I’ve always had a short fuse when it comes to dealing with outrageously dumb and entitled people, and if any of you knew me at the age of 24, to say that that fuse was only about a millimeter long to begin with might be overestimating. To put it simply, up until this point, the restraint I’d shown in keeping my mouth shut was taking a herculean effort of will on my part. So my buddy makes a mild half assed pointing gesture toward the man, who shouts back, from ten feet away, “Get your finger out of my face!!!”
I say, pretty mild and dryly, all things considered, but with a touch of “give me a break” in my voice, “His finger isn’t anywhere near your face..” Mr. Badass SPINS around like he is wearing rollerblades, rushes at me, and stops an inch from my chest and yells into my face “I wasn’t talking to you! What the fuck’re you going to do about it, huh, HUH?!?!”
Now, I’m normally fairly aloof, relaxed and bored in demeanor, which can tend to drop a good three or four inches off my size with a slacker slouch, and belie the fact that I am constantly assessing EVERYTHING in my immediate surroundings. This guy is maybe 5’9, in his late 20s, and doesn’t appear to have any extra fat. At the time I was maybe 190 pounds, indifferent to consequences, and recognizing a guy that is used to getting what he wants through bullying and intimidation. Not things I’m generally a fan of, especially when it comes at the expense of a female friend who has recently been put through the wringer.
So with this in mind, I stand up straight, to my full 6’3 height, square my broad shoulders, clench my hands into fists at the opposite ends of my 70” reach and move my arms out slightly from my body. I then lean OVER him and say directly into his suddenly upturned face matter of factly “I’m about to kick your fucking ass.”
His eyes visibly widen, as everything falls silent and the seconds tick. Suddenly, the patron who had initially been in between us is between us again, pushing him back. I just laugh and shrug; I have no intention of hitting this idiot unless he takes a swing first. AS SOON as Mr. Badass is 10 feet away with two people in between us, he goes into a crouch, throws his hands into karate choppers and lets loose a “Whhaaa!! Whhaaaaaaaa!!!!” I BUST out laughing at this moron, as do my friends.
The girl gives this guy his money back and he is still talking shit, saying he is calling the health department, etc. etc. His wife has come inside and he is still running at the mouth, with me now seated at that table with my friend right next to the front door. He says “I’m never coming in here again!!” and I say loudly “Boy, is that a relief.” Bruce Leeroy Jenkins hasn’t had enough and yells at me “Say one more word to me! Say one more word and I’ll kick your ass!” I glance over at him and say “Maaaaan, FUUUCK YOOOU.” He pauses a beat, jumps in the air throwing his arms around in frustration like a four year old and yells, “You’re not worth it!” His wife grabs him by the jacket and drags him out the door. We have our beers and enjoy the night, grins painted on all around.
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